Chuck Versus The Man Who Never Was
by WvonB
Summary: Unexpected paths suddenly open up. What will they find at the end of them?
1. Prologue

_A/N: OK, here it is. This is story idea that I've been playing around for more than a year now. Kept running into roadblocks and distractions. Just couldn't seem to keep at it as much as I should have._

 _So here's my dilemma. Prior to this, I've said I would not publish a story until all of it was finished. But I feel I need a little pressure to get this one done, so I'm putting it to you, the readers. Please tell me in your comments if I should delay this story until it is completed or start serializing now. I will leave this up for a week to judge your response. If "wait until completed" is the majority, I'll pull this off and post the complete story later. (A number of months for sure.)_

 _Otherwise, I'll leave it up. If so, I do have the next two chapters ready to go and two or three others close. The release time between chapters would be a couple of weeks._

 _My beta, michaelfmx, has proposed a concept for this story that I believe may be fairly unique. Can't tell you all the details right now, but watch for it after Chapter Two (By my storyline, starting as I do, with this Prologue. Chapter Three by the way Fanfic will call it.) I thank him for his hard work, observations and ideas. Although he's also truly, horribly, terribly evil for suggesting it._ :) _You'll see why when the complexity of his idea is revealed._

 _Timeline wise, and only timeline wise do I sort of see this set early third season. But there's nothing of that storyline in this tale. It's simply more of how I see where the main characters are in their lives. In fact, I don't think well see much of any canon events here._

 _Certain aspects of this tale, as it develops, may be disconcerting to many of you who've read my other pieces. But I believe that if you stick with it, you'll (hopefully) find satisfaction: One way or another. (There's a hint right about what will come later.)_

 _Most of the story will stay fairly close to canon characters and relationships. However, there will be radical departures from how this happens. That will become clearer as time goes on._

 _But please remember that this will be first and foremost a Charah story, even if it's not always arrived at in the conventional way._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Prologue**

He lies on the bed, quiet and unmoving. Except for a marginally rapid pulse and a few slight spikes in brain wave activity, (both dutifully recorded by just two of the many machines attached to him) there is nothing to indicate he's anything but entirely comatose. Neither of the indicators has reached a level to trigger any alarm bells, so, at least for the moment, they go unnoticed. To the casual observer, it would appear that he is in exactly the same condition he's been for the past five days.

But today is different. Beneath the deceptive outward calm, hampered by his inability to either truly sleep or bring himself to full wakefulness, he finds himself trapped in that disorienting twilight state between consciousness and unconsciousness. And though he remains still, inside he is anything but.

Fragments of fantastically improbable scenes tumble chaotically through his mind. It's impossible to latch onto one, explore it before he is moved on, unwillingly, to the next. He's not even granted that weird, illogical continuity that dreamers often experience, where one scene leads nonsensically into the next in a way that somehow still seems to fit.

No. It's just a jumble of unrelated, hard-edged pieces that don't fit together. A series of disjointed events with no rhyme or reason.

Then, unexpectedly, he's given a brief moment of clarity, and during it, he's able to discern his error. For there is a constant. One that brings all the pieces together in a way that suddenly does makes sense.

Her.

She's everywhere in his tumultuous thoughts. Every action taken, every choice made comes back to her. Even when she's not foremost in the riotous images flashing through his mind, he can still feel her presence. It's as if she's waiting in the wings for her cue, that moment when she'll join him once again.

He wants that. So badly. And though he has no real sense of time, somehow he knows he's already been away from her for far too long. He needs to see her. To touch her. To talk with her.

But to do any of that, he'll first have to wake up.

...

Karen Green looks up from her magazine, thinking, hoping for a second that her patient has stirred. Standing, she walks to the bed and checks the monitors for any changes. Noting nothing significant, she looks down at the curly-haired young man still lying in exactly the same position he'd been when she'd last checked. There are no signs he's waking up, or perhaps that he ever will. Sighing, she returns to her chair.

Karen is an excellent nurse. Conscientious, kind, empathetic, yet authoritative when needed. She is also trusted and discreet, mandatory requirements for any who work in NSA/CIA-run medical facilities as she's done for the past twenty-one years.

Long ago, she'd developed the required ability of selective hearing. When you take care of sick or wounded agents, things are going to be said that shouldn't be heard. Matters that are of national import or sometimes just about the private lives of public figures. In either case, the words would simply not find any permanent spot in her mind. Gone with the wind, so to speak, as soon as she left their room.

Not that there was any need to worry about that with her current patient. The man hasn't uttered a sound since he was brought here close to a week ago. He also hasn't made any movements, voluntary or otherwise, so they had taken the needed actions to prevent bedsores. It was during one of these procedures that she noticed there were no signs of any physical trauma, no indications of why he was in a coma. She can only guess at the cause, because she's been told nothing about this man beyond the bare facts she needs in order to care for him.

Karen has never seen security as tight as it is for this patient. Each and every time she enters his room, she has to show her pass to the guard permanently stationed outside. She knows all the security personnel by name, has done so for years, yet there are no exceptions. She has no idea of why the man, only referred to as Agent C., is so important, but she'd learned long ago not to question matters beyond her pay grade.

However, that doesn't stop her from being curious. She's almost always been able to restrain that in the past, but there's a certain air of tragedy surrounding him that tugs at her heartstrings. So, while on duty, she's constantly watching all that happens around him, trying to sort out what's going on.

She especially keeps a close eye on those who visit him. Working on different shifts, she's been able to sort out the regular crew of doctors and nurses and other visitors from those who have some sort of personal connection to the young man. By her observations, and using the information gathered from the other nurses, she's been able to quickly narrow it down to five people who visit regularly. They also have one other thing in common: None of them have names on their passes.

There's a couple, both doctors but not regular members of the staff, although they seem to know their way around the place. Perhaps they worked here before Karen transferred in. The woman has longish brown hair about the same color as the patient. Very pretty, and Karen would guess normally quite vivacious, but at the moment that is obviously curbed by her worry over the patient's lack of progress. She tries to be optimistic, but it's easy to tell how the situation wears on her.

She's accompanied by a man that, in her youth, Karen would have called a hunk. Hell, she still would, even if that word is somewhat outdated. The man obviously works out. Tall, with sandy colored hair and a male model face. If she was fifteen years younger and he wasn't so clearly attached to the brunette Doctor beside him, she would've been tempted to make a move. Putting aside these somewhat inappropriate thoughts, she'd seen that he shares his partner's concern.

These two show up daily, usually fairly early and then in the late afternoon. They're clearly involved in the case, but there's more to it than just that. On a number of occasions, Karen has seen the woman break down in tears only to be comforted by her companion. That they both feel something well beyond the normal doctor/patient relationship is readily apparent.

The third is a short, dark-haired man. Hispanic looking with a rather substantial beard. He comes every day in the early afternoon, pulls up a chair and, for a couple of hours, reads quietly to his unresponsive listener.

Sitting near the far wall, fifteen feet away, Karen at first wasn't sure what he was reading out loud. But when she caught a glimpse of what the man was holding up, she realized it was what she would call a comic book, but what's known as a graphic novel nowadays.

While quiet, he reads with animation, taking the time to explain what was happening in each of the panels. On a few of his visits, he'd gone so far as to hold up the page to point out a particularly interesting illustration, only to then realize the futility of the gesture. When that had happened, his previous liveliness vanished and he'd left shortly thereafter.

The fourth is obviously a military man. It's stamped all over him, evident in his posture, the way he walks. He's a big man with an impassive face, one that carries scars from the life he's led. He shows up, like clockwork, at 0600. When Karen had offered a greeting upon meeting him for the first time, he'd merely grunted in reply. She hadn't tried that again.

He simply stands beside the bed, never sits, never says a word. Every once in a while, she catches a glimpse of something, some sort of emotion flickering across his face, but it quickly disappears as he schools his expression once again. It's almost as if he doesn't want anyone to know how much he cares for the man lying before him. But Karen isn't fooled. After an hour, he leaves.

The fifth is the one that especially tears at Karen's heart. The tall, blond woman arrives every day in the early evening and stays until midnight or so. She quietly greets the nurse with a smile, but one that never quite reaches her eyes. She's strikingly beautiful, and Karen can only imagine what the woman's full blown smile would look like. The nurse expects it would light up the room.

But Karen doubts she'll ever see that, for the woman brings with her an overpowering sense of heartbreaking loss, so powerful as to be almost palpable.

It's always the same. She draws the chair as close as possible and then, with her hand gently on his, leans forward to bring her face close. Then she starts to talk. For hours on end she speaks to him, her voice a low murmur.

From where she sits, Karen is unable to hear her words and is glad she can't, for to do so would be a grossly inappropriate violation of such intimacy. Besides, it wouldn't exactly be professional if the woman looked over to see her crying like a baby, which is exactly what would happen if she could discern even a tiny fraction of what was being said.

The nurse can only imagine the words being spoken, imagines what _she_ would say if she was this deeply in love (as this woman so clearly is) with a man who may never come back to her. How profoundly she cares for him, how much she is looking forward to their lives together, the family they would have.

Karen's never really been a firm believer in the idea that comatose patients can hear all that is said to them, but she fervently hopes she's wrong in this case. She prays he hears every word, every sentiment. That this is what will be remembered even if everything else is forgotten.

This evening, the woman, upon finishing her conversation (for Karen thinks of it as such even though it's all one-sided), had stood and reached over to brush away some of the unruly curls covering the electrodes on his forehead. Then she'd leaned in and quickly, softly kissed him before turning away, heading for the door. As she'd passed where Karen was sitting, she'd mouthed a quiet 'Thank you'. Even in the relatively dim light it was easy to see her red-rimmed eyes.

Right then, it had dawned on the nurse that if she'd ever had children from her short-lived, teenage marriage, this woman would be about the right age. She had experienced a sudden maternal urge to take the woman into her arms, comfort her as a mother would her daughter, and tell her she will get the happily ever after.

But she hadn't. A bitter lesson she'd been taught years ago is not to give false hope. Even so, hours later, she wishes she'd just said to hell with it and done whatever she could to console her.

Suddenly yawning, she glances at her watch to see that there are two hours left on the double shift they'd assigned her. She'll be heading home just about the time Military Guy shows up.

It's at this moment that she hears a quiet alarm beep from one of the machines. Standing, she quickly walks toward the bed. Scanning the array of screens, she notices the EEG is showing a significant increase in brainwave activity. His pulse rate is rapidly rising as well. Movement catches her eye. She looks down to see his right-hand twitch, once, then again.

She takes a few steps away, pulls her phone from her pocket and calls the first number on her speed dial.

"The patient appears to be coming out of his coma. You'll inform her?" She listens for a few seconds more, then nods. "Yes, I'll alert the doctors and stay with him."

After calling the nurse's station and passing on her request, she returns to the bed just in time to see his eyelids flutter. He raises his head a little and his lips part. It's obvious he's trying to say something, so she leans in close to hear him utter a single word before his head falls back again on the pillow. Checking the monitors again, she's happy to see they all indicate that he's simply sleeping.

Karen is still standing at his bedside when, thirty minutes later, the door opens to admit a short, red-haired woman, impeccably turned out in her uniform, even at this hour of the morning.

The nurse steps towards her, quietly says, "Good morning, Ma'am. There are no immediate issues, but I've alerted the on-call physicians as per your standing orders. They haven't arrived as of yet."

"Yes, Karen. I told them to stand down until I had the chance to speak with you."

"Is there anything the General would like to ask?"

"Yes. Did he say anything?"

"Just one word, Ma'am."

"What was that?"

"Sarah. It almost sounded like a question."

Karen sees the General's face fall, and it's a few seconds before she responds, almost as if she's speaking to herself.

"Damn. We were afraid this was going to happen."

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: Please tell me what you think. Later chapters will be longer. Probably 5-6,000 words each._

 _I await your verdict, dear readers._


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: The readers have spoken. I will be serializing this story. Thank you for all your kind comments and reviews for the prologue of Never Was (I felt CVTMWNW was just a little too long of an acronym)_

 _This story will be kinda AU'ish in many ways but then again, it won't be. That'll become clearer as time goes by._

 _I plan to release every two weeks, but I will here ask for your patience if I'm not always able to stick to that schedule._

 _Thank to michaelfmx for his excellent beta services. Any errors you find in this chapter are wholly my fault._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al. Having a lot of fun though._

 _PS Fasten you seat belts. We're in for a bit of a bumpy ride. (Misquoted, I know.)_

—

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

When he wakes up, his first conscious thought is of her. It's hardly surprising, given that he can only recall a small handful of times in the last three years that he _hasn't_ woken up thinking of her. For that matter, he's unsure of the last occasion that she didn't occupy his last thoughts before falling asleep. And of course, she's in his dreams as well, dreams he can usually recall the next morning and replay in his mind, smiling all the while.

But not today. He knows with a certainty that she was there, in his mind as he slept. But this time, there's only a hodgepodge of splintered images, lacking any semblance of clarity or sense.

His eyes still closed, he wonders, why so different today? What's changed?

Then, as clear if she was standing right beside him, he hears her say, "I'll be there when you wake up."

This startles him so, that his eyes involuntarily pop open, expecting to see her eyes, her smile.

He doesn't, and it's hard to contain his bitter disappointment. He must have imagined her words, for he knows that, whenever humanly possible, she keeps her promises.

He blinks his eyes a few times, trying to clear his vision. When was the last time he was awake? Then it comes to him. It had been at night. Or at least he thinks so. He does remember that he'd only been able to keep his eyes open for a few seconds, so he's not entirely sure. It's easy to tell that it's not night anymore, what with the sunlight pushing its way through the gaps in the Venetian blinds.

The other thing that's different is that he has no trouble staying awake now. In fact, he feels oddly energized. And curious, so he starts to take stock of his surroundings. Given all the wires and tubes connecting him to the various medical paraphernalia near his bed, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's in a hospital facility of some sort.

But exactly where and for how long, he has no idea. Or why. First and foremost, he'll need to concentrate on getting these questions answered. Then he'll be able to move on to more important issues, like seeing her again.

He doesn't feel any particular discomfort, so doesn't think he's been physically injured, although it's possible that drugs could be masking the pain. He raises his feet a little and is gratified to see the blanket move in response. So, both legs are there. _That's good._ He raises each arm in turn, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. _Also good._

Licking his lips, he's suddenly struck by how thirsty he is, so he raises his head to see if there's any water nearby. As he does, he sees a woman walking towards him. She's in the shadows, but he can tell she's tall. There's a flash of blond hair and his heart leaps.

Then the woman comes fully into the light, and his joy vanishes as quickly as it came. It's an older woman, a nurse, judging by her scrubs. There is a passing similarity, but he chides himself for thinking, even for a moment, that it could be her.

She leans over him, a concerned look on her face.

"Can I get you anything?"

His voice sounds raspy, hoarse as if it hasn't been used for a while. "May I have some water please?"

Nodding, she quickly grabs a cup from the tray and, holding the straw to his lips, says, "Not too quickly or too much. Don't want you choking."

He nods in turn and, even though he's very thirsty, heeds her warning. After several seconds, he drops his head back and says, his voice much stronger, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Are you comfortable? Do you want me to adjust the bed?"

"Yes, please. I'd like to sit up more if I could."

"Of course." She takes the controller and raises the head of the bed, then resettles the pillows behind him.

"Is that better?"

"Yes. Thank you." Smiling, he says, "The standard question in this situation is, 'Where am I?', but the answer to that seems pretty obvious." He goes on, "However, before I ask any further questions, I believe introductions are in order. My name is Chuck."

He offers his hand until he notices the device clipped to his finger.

She unclips it. "Won't hurt for a moment." Taking his hand, she says, "Karen."

"Pleased to meet you, Karen. I want you to know that I'm not usually the kind of guy who lets unfamiliar women see him sleeping."

He smiles again and the nurse chuckles as she reattaches the pulse monitor.

"No. I didn't think you were."

"Now that we're no longer strangers, perhaps you can tell me where I am, location wise?"

"You're in a jointly run NSA/CIA medical unit in Virginia."

"And you work for…?"

"CIA Medical Services."

Grinning, he says, "I don't want to sound like I doubt you, Karen, but how do I know that you aren't merely pretending to be one of the good guys? Maybe I've been kidnapped and brought to a secret base for some nefarious purpose. It wouldn't be the first time." He's not really serious, but there is a small part of him that wonders how she'll answer.

She grins back. "General Beckman," she pauses for a moment as if to gauge his reaction. He's puzzled. Why would she think he might not recognize the name? Putting that aside for now, he nods as she continues speaking, "has been contacted and will video conference with you within the hour. I presume that will be sufficient proof that I'm not part of some organization hell bent on world domination?"

"I'm a little confused, Karen. I could've sworn you said that you _do_ work for the CIA."

This doesn't sink in for a moment but then she starts to laugh. Chuck joins in after a second or two.

"You're a funny guy, Chuck."

He gives her a rueful grin. "I tend to joke around when I'm nervous. Or scared. It's what I do when I'm about ready to freak out, which, trust me, is something you do not want to see, especially this early in our relationship. So, in order to protect you from that traumatizing experience, I'll need your help."

"Certainly. Fire away."

"Can you tell me what happened to me, why I'm here? Was I in an accident or something? All my body parts appear to be still attached and working properly but perhaps I'm missing something?"

"No, not an accident."

He makes no attempt to hide the relief in his voice. "OK, that's good. Was I sick? Wait. _Am_ I sick?"

"Not sick either. I do know that you were brought to this part of the hospital after some sort of incident put you into a coma. That's all they told me."

Uncertain as that is, it's still better than the alternatives. "How long was I out?"

"About five days. You woke up early this morning, but for just a moment or two. You've slept for eight hours since then."

"I do remember waking up but it's all kind of hazy." He hesitates before asking, "Did I say anything?"

Chuck notices she avoids his gaze before answering, "No. Nothing at all. Like I said, you were only awake for a few seconds."

"You're sure?" He's almost positive he'd said something.

The nurse seems a little flustered. "Yes, I'm sure." She moves quickly to adjust his pillows once more, then stands back a couple of feet. "Are you hungry? You haven't had solid food for a long time, but I can get something light for you." The words come out in a bit of a rush, and it's easy to tell who the nervous one is now.

"Yes, I am. I don't suppose pancakes might be on the menu?" He smiles and sees the look of relief that crosses her face when he doesn't pursue his previous line of questioning.

"No. Not right now. Maybe in a few days when we get you back on your feet."

"OK, Karen. Whatever the doctor orders will be fine."

"Good, I'll be right back."

As she heads toward the door, he calls out to her, "Karen, just one more question. Did I have any visitors while I was out of it?"

This stops her in her tracks. She turns to face him, looking a little apprehensive.

"Visitors?" It's obvious she's stalling.

He nods.

"Well, I haven't been here all the time, and there have been lots of doctors and others coming and going. I suppose some could have been visitors."

"The people I'm thinking of would have been hard to miss. Especially one of them. A young woman about your height. Blue eyes. Blond. Beautiful. Great smile. Looks a bit like you."

Then it suddenly hits him. _Sarah_. That's what he said last night. And just like that, he knows she wasn't only in his dreams. She'd been here, beside him, close, her voice low and sad. What she'd said and when she'd said it, he has no idea, but she _had_ been here. There's not even a sliver of doubt in his mind, which makes Karen's next statement all the more puzzling.

"No, I don't believe I've seen anyone like that. I could ask the other nurses for you." She flushes a bit as she answers. One might think it was because of the implied compliment. But he knows differently. It's become quite clear that the nurse has not been entirely truthful for the last couple of minutes. It's also obvious that she's not doing so of her own volition, for it's easy to see how she hates it, how terrible she is at it.

Why? Why would they order her to lie to him? Getting some straight answers would be nice, but it's become quite apparent the nurse is not going to provide them. Still, having to lie to people is a dilemma with which he can certainly empathize, so this impels him to let her off the hook, at least for now. Besides, after what he's been through the last few years, it's actually a little refreshing to be around someone who's so easy to read.

"Thanks, Karen. I would appreciate that."

"You're welcome. I'll go and get your meal now." She says this as she walks quickly towards the door, plainly eager to get away from the discomfort his questions have caused her.

…

Chuck is convinced that clear broth should not really be considered as actual food, but nevertheless finishes the portion he'd been given. As he'd also done with the liquid-something-that-sorta-tasted-like-apple-juice and, of course, the ubiquitous Jello, green in this case.

As she comes to collect the tray, he says, "Karen, I would like to say that was very tasty but-"

She smirks. "But it's hospital food. I get it. I'll bring you something different next time."

The whole lying thing aside, he likes Karen, her laugh, her sense of humor, her genuine concern for him.

"Looking forward to it."

"Chuck, I did say different, not that it will actually be good."

"It couldn't be worse."

"Trust me. It could."

He chuckles a bit at this, the atmosphere in the room much lighter since he'd stopped questioning her. "The fact that I finished that," pointing to the tray in her hands, "obviously means I was very hungry."

She deposits the tray on a nearby cart and then turns back to him. Dryly, with no hint of a smile, she says, "Well, people in comas do have a tendency to ignore their nutritional needs."

He chuckles again.

"We managed to keep you hydrated intravenously, but we were getting perilously close to the feeding tube route."

He grimaces.

Seeing his expression, she grins. "So you should. It's not a pleasant procedure. Be happy you woke up."

"Speaking of waking up. You said you were here when I first did, and here you are again. Don't you ever sleep?"

"Don't worry. I got some rest while you slept. The General has asked me to take special care of you, so I'll just take breaks when I can. I'll be staying close, sleeping at the hospital. Another nurse will cover the night shift."

"Won't your family miss you?"

"Don't have any nearby. Just a younger sister who lives up in Vancouver. How she can tolerate the rain is beyond me. But she's happy. Good husband. Nice kids."

"That's too bad."

"What?"

"That you don't have a family of your own. I know this may sound presumptuous, knowing you as I do for all of an hour or so, but I can tell you're a good person. I bet you could make the right man very happy, and he you."

He can see she blushes a bit at this.

"Tried once, but it didn't take."

"Well, he obviously wasn't the right one."

She's silent for a couple of seconds. "How about you? Anyone special?"

He, in turn, is quiet for a moment or two. "Yes." He looks straight at her. "Her name is Sarah."

He waits for Karen's reaction to the name and does notice something in her eyes, some form of recognition but she quickly tries to mask it. Nodding, she waits for him to continue.

"We've worked together for a few years. We're close but it feels like there's something holding her back. Being around this business just complicates everything that should be easy, or at least, not as difficult as it is. We just can't seem to make that final connection."

"Hey. Don't give up." She smiles, "I know this may sound presumptuous, knowing you as I do for all of an hour or so," he chuckles, "but I can tell you're a good person. If I can see that after such a short period of time, I'm sure she knows as well."

"I hope so."

There's a slight hesitancy but then she leans in closer and whispers, "Something tells me you two are going to make it."

It's almost as if she is saying words she shouldn't, giving away some sort of secret. This only serves to further convince him that she knows much more than she's allowed to let on. He's tempted to try and get to the bottom of things right there and then, but before he can decide if he will or won't, their attention is captured by a chime from the phone in her pocket. She pulls it out and looks at the screen for a moment.

"General Beckman is ready for her video call. I'll get the tablet for you." After picking it up from a table near the door, she returns and hands it to him. "You can keep this nearby from now on. No password but you can change that if you want. The General will be on in a moment. She's asked me to wait outside. Just press the call button when you're finished."

"Thanks, Karen."

"Welcome. See you in a bit."

Chuck flips open the cover, presses the power button and, swiping his finger, opens the home screen. Just as he does so, a request for a video call pops up. Upon pressing the "Accept" icon he's presented with the familiar image of General Diane Beckman, his boss.

"Agent Carmichael. It's good to see you awake. We were a little worried."

"Thank you, Ma'am. Nice to be back in the land of the living."

"Are they treating you well?"

"Well, I've only been awake for a little while, but so far so good. Food's awful, though."

She smiles a little (something he rarely sees). "Yes. I believe that's obligatory even in hospitals run by intelligence services."

It appears the pleasantries are over, for her expression becomes serious as she asks, "How much do you remember about what happened to you?"

"Everything's quite fuzzy, so not much, Ma'am. "

"Understandable. Do you recall you and your team coming to Washington?"

Suddenly, the memory, or at least part of it, is there. "Sarah and Casey were escorting me. I can't recall exactly what it was, but we were here to have something done with the Intersect. Is that right?"

"Yes. After the procedure, you failed to regain consciousness, so it became necessary for you to remain here."

"Excuse me, General. Can you tell me what was being done? What went wrong?"

"No. We'll need to conduct some tests before I can answer that for you." Her reply is authoritative, curt, but even so, Chuck can sense her evasiveness. About what, he's uncertain. Why not just tell him? He's finding Karen's, and now Beckman's behavior increasingly perplexing and frustrating. Well, if Beckman is not going to tell him anything, perhaps he can try an end around.

"General, now that I'm recovering, I would like to see Casey and Sarah, just to let them know I'm OK." He's sure that they, or at the very least, Sarah, will tell him the truth.

"That's not possible right now."

For a second, he's angry, but then panic abruptly takes its place. What if all of this caginess is there to hide some awful truth, something they don't want or don't know how to tell him?

Gripping the sides of the tablet tightly, he rushes out the words. "General, is everyone OK? Are my family and friends safe? Has anyone been injured or—" The thought that any of them could be hurt…or worse, abruptly chokes off his voice. The loss of Devon or Casey or Morgan would leave a gaping hole in his life. But what if it's his sister? Or even worse, Sarah? There's a flush of shame at this, that he places her even above Ellie, but he can't help it. It's simply the truth. As much as he loves the woman who raised him, Sarah is his hope. Everything good he sees for his future is tied up in her. If she's gone…

He suddenly finds it hard to breathe. He knows he's close to a full blown panic attack, but before it hits him, Beckman jumps in.

"No. Everyone you cared for in Burbank is fine."

He notices the odd phrasing of her reply, but his intense relief quickly pushes away the thought.

"You're sure?"

"Completely sure."

Then his anger, his frustration are back and very evident as he asks, "If they're all OK, why aren't they here right now? Why aren't you letting them visit me?"

"We need to run a number of tests before we allow any visitors. In two or three days, we'll reevaluate." He senses, again, that evasiveness in her words, sees it in her body language.

"General, you haven't answered my question."

"Not now, Agent Carmichael. I will personally visit you after the tests are completed. We will deal with matters then."

"But, General-"

"Not now, Agent. Am I clear on this?" The words are firm, the expression stern.

He knows he's pushed as far as he can go, so he reluctantly concedes. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. I will see you in a few days." Her expression softens. "I know this is all very confusing, but I need you to trust me."

At this moment, that's pretty much the last thing he's inclined to do. Still, he answers, "Yes, Ma'am."

As she signs off, he drops the tablet into his lap, wondering what the hell is going on.

...

While he'd rested for the remainder of that day, for the next two, he'd been continually poked and prodded, both physically and mentally. He was X-rayed, MRI'd, and CAT scanned so many times that he lost count. Additionally, there had been a bunch of tests he had no idea how to identify. They'd taken so much blood that he marveled that his brain wasn't starved of oxygen. Each time Karen had carried out the procedure, she'd smiled apologetically and told him that she hoped this was the last time it would be needed.

Then there were the head shrinks who seemingly put him through every sort of psych test. Word association. Inkblots. Flash cards with a wide range of images. And so on, and so on.

It's all been so exhausting, that it's well into the second day of tests before he realizes he hasn't flashed once, even though many of the images should have triggered some sort of reaction.

Is the Intersect finally gone? He doesn't know, and certainly, none of the doctors had been of any assistance. Not one of them had offered even a single word, in fact, had flatly refused to answer any of his questions.

As he lies in bed that night, just before he falls asleep, he ponders what this might mean for his life. In the early days, they'd talked about this development a few times, always at his insistence. Sarah had never matched his enthusiasm on the subject, had always seemed apprehensive during their conversations. He'd been so focused on getting rid of this heaviness in his head, that he hadn't realized at first what it would likely mean for the two of them. But eventually, he came to understand the ramifications. He'd come to think that she was just as afraid of a probable separation as he was. That her feelings for him were much stronger than she'd ever let on.

Or at least he'd hoped so.

…

The next morning he awakens to a buzz of activity. Orderlies and nurses are unplugging the various machines around his bed and wheeling them away.

He catches Karen's eye and, as she approaches him, asks, "What's happening?"

"They've finished with their tests. The doctors have decided they don't need to monitor you any longer, so we're pulling the plug on everything."

Yawning, he replies, "I'm glad I'm not on life-support, otherwise that statement could take on an entirely different meaning."

She smiles at him. "Yes, I see your point. Got some other good news, too. After we finish with this, I'll bring those pancakes you asked for. Might even be able to scrounge up some bacon and scrambled eggs as well."

"Nurse Green, you're the best."

"Just rewarding you for being such a good patient. After breakfast, you'll probably want to shower and get into some regular clothes. We brought some in for you."

"Thanks for that. I didn't relish the idea of walking around in those hospital robes. Little breezy, if you get my drift. A shower sounds good as well. The whole 'Sponge Baths by Sven' thing was getting a little creepy."

She gently slaps him on the shoulder. "Hey, he's a great orderly. Be thankful that he does such a good job, otherwise, I'd probably have to stay upwind of you."

He raises his hands in surrender. "OK, OK. I give. Please thank him for me."

"I will. Now, on a more serious note, General Beckman will be here in two hours to speak with you. That's part of the reason I let them wake you up, to give you enough time to prepare."

Even though Chuck has been eagerly awaiting this meeting, now that the time is almost here, he's a little fearful. He's fairly certain that it's going to be bad news. Maybe they'll have no further use for him now that the Intersect is likely gone for good. The worst thing he can think of is that as a consequence of this, Sarah has already been reassigned, already somewhere halfway around the globe, never to be seen by him again.

Whatever's going on, he's determined to get answers this time. Even if those answers may break his heart.

"Thanks for the heads up, Karen. I appreciate you looking out for me."

…

A couple of hours later he feels like a human being once more. Fed, showered, shaved, dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt, and his namesake Chucks, he feels much more prepared to deal with the impending discussion with the General.

Walking around in his room (he'd strenuously refused the offered wheelchair), he finds himself a little weak, but otherwise discerns no ill effects from what he's gone through.

From across the room, he hears Karen's concerned voice. "Any dizziness?"

"Nope. Just a little tired." Spying two comfortable looking chairs around a table near the window, he heads for them. "Think I'll sit down for a while."

"Good idea."

A moment later, there's a knock on the door just before it opens to admit General Beckman into the room.

Both Chuck and Karen rise from their chairs, but the General quickly waves for Chuck to sit once again, which he gratefully does.

Turning, she politely asks, "Nurse Green, could you leave us, please? Agent Carmichael and I need to have a private discussion."

"Certainly, Ma'am. I'll be right outside if the patient needs anything."

Chuck can hear Karen's slight emphasis on the word "patient", a gentle reminder to the General about his condition.

"Thank you, nurse. I'll keep that in mind."

As the door closes behind Karen, Beckman approaches Chuck, then sits in the chair opposite him.

"Agent Carmichael. It's good to see you looking so well."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I'm feeling much better."

Chuck has never known Beckman to be much of a small-talk kind of person, so isn't surprised when she gets right to business, just as she did during the video call.

"I imagine there are a lot of things you would like to have cleared up."

He nods. "Yes, Ma'am, there are. But is it OK with you if we drop the cover name? Now that we're in private, I would prefer to use Bartowski. Just seems a little less formal."

He's totally unprepared for the expression of undisguised concern that passes over her normally impassive face. Nor is he prepared for the sympathy he hears in her voice.

"Charles…Chuck. Before we go any further, there's something you must know. Something we'd thought you'd never have to face, at least not in this manner. However, things haven't worked out as we had hoped. So, after many consultations with the various medical experts, we've come to the conclusion that, if you are to have any chance of moving forward, it is imperative that you know the truth."

She brings her eyes to his.

"I need you to listen carefully. Very carefully." She pauses for a moment, then takes a deep breath. "The person you believe yourself to be does not truly exist and, in fact, never has. Charles Irving Bartowski is an identity you created and assumed when you first became the human Intersect three years ago."

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: I can hear you saying, "Whoa, man, what the heck are you doing?" (or some such). Trust me, this isn't even the biggest surprise to come in this story. But don't give up. Keep on reading, please. I believe you're going to like what's going to happen. One way or another._

 _Eventually._


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: OK, I know that was a little mean, leaving you hanging for the past two weeks, so here's the next instalment._

 _Some things are explained and others, well, not so much._

 _I thank you all for following along. A special thanks to those who've taken the time to review._

 _I truly appreciate all your words of encouragement._

 _And, of course, thanks to my hardworking beta, Michaelfmx for his ideas, nudges and corrections._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

 _"The person you believe yourself to be does not truly exist and, in fact, never has. Charles Irving Bartowski is an identity you created and assumed when you first became the human Intersect three years ago."_

…

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **CHAPTER 2**

He was to later think that of all the replies he could've given in response to this astonishing, bewildering statement, "Huh?" was certainly not the most eloquent or incisive. However, given similar circumstances, it's unlikely anyone else could have done much better.

When she said nothing, obviously waiting for him to catch up as well as he could, his next words are, at least, a little more articulate.

"General, I'm not certain I understand what you just said." He's doing his best to hold in his confusion, his incredulity, but the rising pitch of his voice gives him away. That, and the look of utter disbelief he's pretty sure is being displayed on his face right now.

She looks at him for a few long seconds, then quietly says, "Chuck Bartowski is a construct, a fiction. Charles Carmichael is your real name, not your cover. He's the real person."

The whole thing sounds like some preposterous practical joke. For a very brief moment, he expects his family and friends to suddenly jump into the room and laugh over how he could have believed, even for a second, that such a ridiculous story could actually be true. But, of course, they don't. And there's no trace of humor in the General's face.

He cannot, _will_ not accept it.

"No. I _am_ Chuck Bartowski. I have a sister named Ellie. Her fiancé is named Devon, but I call him Awesome. My best friend is Morgan. Casey and Sarah are agents that work with me and protect me. Just go and ask any one of them. They'll tell you who I am.

She says nothing.

His defiance slips, and he finds himself pleading. "Just ask them."

She remains silent, and, so contrary to her normal nature, just looks at him with patient compassion. Could she be telling him the truth?

No. No. No. There has to be another explanation.

He grasps at a straw, a desperate hope. "General, why was I brought here? Were you trying to modify the Intersect, to make me into someone I'm not? Someone who would be a more effective weapon, not reluctant to use violence? Did something go wrong, and now you're trying to cover it up?"

But even as he asks, he can see the flaws in his reasoning. If they wanted to cover it up, why even try to convince him he isn't who he thinks he is? Why not just let him continue as Chuck Bartowski and sweep everything under the rug?

"Yes, Chuck. Something did go wrong, but it's not what you think. You were brought here in an effort to give you back what you'd lost. To give you the chance to once again live your real life, not this imaginary one."

He feels the increasing pressure from the panic bubbling up in his chest. "Are you saying that I'm mentally ill or something? That I've imagined everything that's happened to me? Like that guy in 'A Beautiful Mind?' That Ellie and Sarah…none of them are real?" The words come out in a fevered rush, spoken so rapidly that he almost slurs them together.

Shaking her head, she replies, "No. I apologize for not being clearer. Unfortunately, it's much more complicated than that. Rest assured that you didn't imagine them. They do exist. It's just…"

He feels a weight come off his chest, his relief intense. He hasn't lost his mind.

 _Wait. Why did she stop?_ "General, what were you going to say?"

"Chuck, I'm not going to answer that right now. Later today, two of our medical experts are going to explain exactly what happened to you. Or, as much as we understand. They'll do a much better job than I can, so I need you to put this away until they talk to you.

"For now, rather than you asking a thousand questions, I'm going to tell you a story about a man named Charles Carmichael. Perhaps it'll be easier if you pretend this is about someone other than yourself, at least for the moment.

"I know that much of what I'm going to say may sound like the far-fetched plot of some movie or TV show, but the fact that we're dealing with something as improbable as the Intersect in the first place may make it a little easier to accept. Much of what you're going to hear will be very different from the way you remember events. For example, do you recall how you originally downloaded the Intersect?"

He nods, the events clear in his mind. "An e-mail from Bryce Larkin."

"Well, today you're going to learn the truth. I know it will be difficult, but try to listen without too many interruptions, and I'll do my best to help you understand what really happened. Is that something you're willing to do?"

He gives her a jerky nod, gnawing at his lower lip as he thinks that a thousand questions might not be hyperbole in his case.

"Good. I'm going to give you the CliffsNotes version. I know you'll want, need, more details, but we'll leave that until later if that's OK with you?"

He nods once more, accepting, at least for the moment, that he has no other choice.

She pauses for a few seconds, appearing to be gathering her thoughts.

"Charles 'Chuck' Carmichael has worked for the NSA since 2006. He came to us with a Doctorate in Computer Science obtained from MIT. When I asked him why he chose government service rather than the more lucrative private sector, he told me he lost a close friend and fellow classmate in 9/11. He eventually came to realize that he had an idea that could help prevent anything like that from happening again. So he offered his services."

Only a few seconds in, and Chuck is already close to being overwhelmed. MIT? Not Stanford? He'd volunteered to work for the Government? He's bursting with questions, but somehow manages to bite his tongue and keep silent.

"About the time Charles joined us, we were beginning to realize that we were facing a threat that was far more insidious, far more dangerous even than terrorism. We were being attacked from within by a group determined to impose their own ideas of government on the American people."

He's a little irritated. "General, I do know about Fulcrum and the Ring. We've been fighting them for the last three years."

"Chuck, we're a little uncertain as to what you do remember, so try not to take offense. But I'm not telling you this to check on what you know. It's mostly to set the stage about that time, to help you understand more fully the situation we were facing."

"Ok. Sorry."

She goes on, "We were fighting a largely unknown enemy and needed every tool we could get. So when Charles Carmichael came to us with his concept, we decided it was worth pursuing. It was something he'd been working on for quite some time, an idea so revolutionary, so far out there, that none of our scientists had ever come up with anything even close to it."

By this time, his mind is racing. Although it's not in his nature to flaunt it, Chuck knows he's an intelligent man. But even if he accepts, for the moment, that Charles Carmichael was, in some way, even more intelligent, he still can't think of what he might have come up with that could possibly merit such a response.

"What was my idea, General?"

As she answers, somewhat hesitantly, there's an expression much like the one she'd had when she had dropped her earlier bombshell.

"Chuck, it came to be designated as Project Omaha."

"What?! Why are you telling me this? You know very well the Intersect was my father's…"

His voice tapers off, and, as it does, he thinks he can almost hear a tiny click in his brain.

…

 _As he's ushered into the office, his nerves abruptly spike. He feels the perspiration forming on his forehead as he sits across the large desk from the short yet somehow very intimidating red-haired woman in full military garb._

" _Mr. Carmichael, my name is General Diane Beckman."_

 _Nervous, he's about to stand and offer his hand but quickly senses she wouldn't reciprocate, so he remains in his seat._

" _Pleased to meet you, Diane. Please call me Chuck."_

 _Her expression is frosty, to say the least. Suddenly, his shirt collar feels a little tight._

" _Mr. Carmichael," she emphasizes the mister, "if you are going to become a part of the NSA, you need to realize there certain formalities that need to be observed. You will address me as General or Ma'am and I will continue to address you as Mr. or Agent Carmichael. Is that clear?"_

 _He almost snaps to attention. "Yes, Ma'am."_

 _Then it hits him. "General, does that mean you're accepting my proposal?"_

 _She nods. "Yes, Mr. Carmichael, it does. My advisors feel the outline you provided has significant promise."_

" _Thank you, General."_

 _She looks intently at him. "We expect you to deliver results. You might not feel so grateful when I get on your case for not doing so as quickly as we would like."_

 _He gulps. "Yes, Ma'am."_

" _From henceforth, your proposal will be designated as Project Omaha. It is to only be spoken of using that designation. It is to be conducted with the utmost secrecy. You will report directly to me about it'_ _s progress._ _Am I clear?"_

" _Yes, Ma'am"_

" _You are dismissed. My aide will help you to take care of the necessary paperwork."_

 _He stands and walks toward the door, but turns as she speaks again._

" _Welcome to the NSA, Agent Carmichael."_

 _He gulps again. "Thank you, Ma'am."_

…

Try as he might, he can't seem to remember anything further, and even the details of this isolated fragment are, for some reason, quickly fading. Nonetheless, for the first time since this disconcerting, confusing conversation began, he actually begins to believe this whole thing isn't some absurd fabrication.

"Chuck, what just happened there? You seemed to blank out?"

"I just had a flash of the first time you and I met. But the details slipped away again."

Beckman nods. "That may be good. It's possible your real memories are starting to resurface."

And just like that, he's hit by a wave of dizziness, the room spinning. He suddenly feels a little ill. "General, I think I need a glass of water."

"That sounds like a good idea." She stands and walks to the door. Opening it, she asks, "Nurse Green, could we please have some ice water in here?"

Chuck distantly hears Karen's affirmative reply, his mind reeling, head in hands. It's clear that Beckman can sense his confusion, his disorientation, for after sitting again, she says nothing, once again giving him the time he needs.

A minute or so later, the nurse enters the room carrying a tray with a carafe of ice water and two glasses. She places it on the table between Chuck and the General, then pours a glass for each of them.

Karen is silent until she sees Chuck raise his head and reach out for the glass.

"Chuck! You're white as a sheet! Are you alright?"

He nods weakly. "Yes, Karen. Just dealing with some unexpected news." _Unexpected news?_ He can't help but think that this might be the king of massive understatements.

With fire in her eyes, the nurse rounds on the older woman. "What's going on here? This man just recovered from a coma, and now you're doing this to him? I think you should leave right-"

Before Beckman has time to reply (angrily, Chuck expects), he cuts in. "Karen, it's OK. Really. It's not the General's fault. She's been very considerate. This is stuff I have to know."

He takes a long drink from his glass. "See. I'm better now." The truth is, he does feel better. The dizziness has passed and, even though he's naturally apprehensive (who's he kidding, he's freaked out) about the other revelations she's going to drop on him, he's ready to go on.

It's easy to tell Karen is still angry, but she grudgingly apologizes. "Sorry, Ma'am. Just wanted to make sure that Chu…the patient is OK."

Surprisingly (at least to Chuck), the General smiles as she says, "Apology accepted, Karen. It seems that Chuck engenders strong feelings of protectiveness from pretty much everyone who gets to know him, even if it's just been for a few days."

Then nurse nods. "Yes, Ma'am. That he does."

Turning back to Chuck, and with concern evident in her voice, she says, "I understand this is important, but please don't overtax yourself. Remember, you've only been on your feet for a few hours."

"Thank you, Karen. I'll keep that in mind."

"OK then. I'll be right outside if you need me. Please remember that." After giving the General one more warning look, she leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Turning to his boss, Chuck says, "She won't get in trouble for that outburst, will she? She's just looking out for me."

Beckman chuckles (another thing he's unused to). "No, don't worry. If I had to discipline every person who leaped to your defense, half my staff would be on report."

That seems to trigger some sort of memory, for, after a moment or two, she's once again serious. "Charles Carmichael was, _is_ , a genuinely good man, as is the man who took his place. People liked him and they like you. But the ones who know them both are torn, confused. They like Bartowski, but they miss Carmichael. Does that make any sense to you?"

Chuck doesn't answer for a few seconds. He's only been thinking of himself, not how this whole thing was affecting other people in his life. He's not normally this selfish.

"Yes, it does. Or at least it's starting to."

"I'm glad to hear it." She looks closely at him. "Perhaps you do need to rest for a while." She smiles. "After all, we don't want to incur the wrath of Karen."

 _Wait. Was that a veiled Star Trek reference?_ He pushes away these irrelevant and ill-timed musings.

 _Concentrate._ "No. I need to hear more." He _is_ tired, and for a second had been tempted to agree. But he knows he can't possibly stop at this juncture, that he'll never actually be able to rest until he knows more of the story (and, almost certainly, not even then).

She nods. "When Project Omaha was approved, it was decided that you needed to have both a CIA and NSA liaison, so one agent from each branch was assigned to the group. We recognized that we needed medical expertise, so two doctors were tasked to provide their input. Finally, after becoming acquainted with one of our resident computer technicians, you requested that he be allowed to join the team. These five became your core group, although there were many more who worked alongside you and your team."

"General, that sounds a lot like-"

She cuts him off. "Yes. I know. However, not everything is as it seems, so I'm going to ask you to be patient. There's much more you need to know before we can go down that road. Alright?"

He doesn't want to be patient. He wants to know now. Right now. But he bites his tongue once more and nods his acquiescence.

"The project was rated TS/SCI, Top Secret/Sensitive Compartmented Information. Aside from a very limited number of higher-ups, only you and your immediate team knew the whole picture. The others who worked with you were given only the data they needed to accomplish their specific tasks.

"The six of you worked exceptionally well together. Each member of the team brought their unique strengths, and by so doing complemented each other to an extent that I can say I've never seen before or since. You went beyond workmates and became friends."

He suddenly realizes that Beckman has been addressing him directly for the last few minutes, putting aside all the pretense that he wasn't Charles Carmichael. What's shocking is that he isn't shocked.

"As I said, work on the Intersect computer took years. Frankly, progress wasn't as rapid as had been hoped. But there was at least some progress and that, along with its great promise, was enough to keep it going. There were numerous disappointments and setbacks. But then, a little over three years ago, you came to me and told me you were ready to start testing. Human testing with volunteer agents."

Before he can stop himself, the words spill out, "How did it go? Were we success…"

Stopping, he looks at her, thoroughly embarrassed. "That was a dumb question, wasn't it? Obviously, it worked. I'm the proof of that. When was the decision made to download it into me?"

"If only it had been as simple as that. I hate to use the word complicated again, but that's exactly what this became. It was all about to take a turn that no one could have possibly foreseen."

She looks directly into his eyes. "Chuck, we're getting close to the critical part now, the part that's going to explain a lot of this. So just sit back and be patient for a little longer. OK?"

He realizes he's literally on the edge of his seat, tense, rigid, so he does sit back, tries to control his anxiety.

"OK."

"Thank you. I'm going to go back to your question, 'How did it go?' The short answer is, very badly. When we tried to download the Intersect into our volunteer subjects the results were catastrophic. Not only did it not work, but it also destroyed the minds of four agents, two men and two women. The procedure put them into an apparently permanent vegetative state."

He suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Some idea he'd devised in his ivory tower had done that to another human being. No, _four_ human beings.

Then he's angry. "Why didn't we stop after the first failure? Try and figure out where we were going wrong?"

"We did stop. You and your team reworked some of the coding and we tried again. Same result."

"We should have terminated it right then and there."

"You wanted to, but were ordered to continue. My superiors were insistent that the program continue. Neither of us was given any choice but to carry on."

"I could've resigned, refused to work any further on the project."

"You threatened to do just that, but then you realized they'd just keep on trying anyway. At least if you stayed, you could try to minimize the damage, maybe find a way to make it work. Try to make something good come out of it all. Chuck, what happened to those agents was tearing you apart."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you told me."

"What?!"

"Chuck, haven't you wondered, at least a little bit, why the head of the entire NSA is taking the time to come down here and speak to you personally?"

He just shakes his head, bewildered once again.

"It's because Charles Carmichael was, no, _is_ my friend. And he deserves to hear this from a friend."

Beckman his friend? He chuckles wryly. Why not? Certainly not the strangest thing he's heard this afternoon.

"While you always confided in your team members, one in particular, there were times when you needed an outside perspective. Whenever that happened, you came to speak with me. This was one of those times."

He shakes his head again at the thought of confiding those kinds of feelings to someone like General Diane Beckman.

"You and your team continued to work the problem. Your team doctors eventually realized that a very specific kind of mindset was required in order to survive and function as the Intersect. So they developed a testing procedure that went well beyond what had been done previously.

"More volunteers were tested. You insisted on being tested as well. You've probably guessed by now who scored the highest."

He just points at himself.

She nods. "When you saw the results, you were determined to download it yourself. It wasn't difficult to see that you believed this to be your penance.

"Your whole team, every single one, vehemently opposed your decision. And I agreed with them, especially after a couple of them came to me in tears, pleading for me to stop you. But in the end, emotions weren't what swayed me. You were simply too valuable to us. We could not afford to lose you.

"You were expressly forbidden from downloading the Intersect. You didn't take it well."

"I obviously didn't listen to you."

"On that, we're uncertain, for you see, this is where things started to go to hell in the proverbial hand-basket.

"Even though we had done our best to compartmentalize the project, details began to leak out, especially after the fiasco with our first volunteer group. Unbeknownst to any of us, two of our most trusted agents had defected to Fulcrum. When Project Omaha came to their attention, they were apparently ordered to attack on two fronts, to obtain the Intersect for Fulcrum and, at the same time, deprive us of it. We say apparently ordered because we were never able to confirm this from them."

"How come?"

"One was shot dead during their operation and the other is currently at the bottom of the Seine River somewhere, so they haven't been particularly talkative."

Chuck can see a satisfied look on her face, her seeming approval of justice meted out.

"General, what did they do?" His question seems to bring her back to the present.

"From what we were able to piece together, one was assigned to obtain a copy from your lab and then destroy the original. The other was tasked to destroy the backups we had off-site by taking down the entire building in which they were housed."

His anger flares again. "That kind of building has a lot of innocent people in it!"

She looks at him sympathetically. "Had. _Had_ a lot of innocent people in it."

He feels sick once again. "How many?"

"Seven dead. Six injured. It was fortunate the attack was late in the evening, or it would have been much worse."

"The one who was shot, was that his part of the op?" He hopes it was, that whoever it was got his just desserts. His vehemence surprises him, feelings like this being normally so contrary to his nature. But, at this moment, he's unable to contain his disturbing lust for vengeance.

"No. That was the other one. At the time, we had no idea who planted the bombs. We did eventually find out, though."

"And the other part of their plan?" Despite his almost overwhelming curiosity, Chuck is hesitant to ask. He knows they're coming to the crux of the matter, and he's a little afraid of what he's going to find out.

"This is the part of which we are most unsure. All surveillance devices in the building went off-line for a five minute period that night, so almost everything we think to be true is based on fragmentary evidence. That, and lots of supposition."

She pauses, then looks straight into his eyes. "And you were in no condition to give us any of the details."

He almost stammers, "What? Why? What kind of details could I have given you?"

"Chuck, you were in the Intersect lab that night, quite late. Long past regular working hours. We have you at the security checkpoint, logging in shortly before the attack took place.

"Why? What was I doing there?"

"We don't know. We've always hoped that you would be able to tell us what happened and why. But you've never been able to do so."

"Do you think I was there to download the Intersect against orders?"

"It's possible, but we don't think so. It's more likely that you were testing some idea you'd come up with."

"What do you think happened?"

"We believe that upon entering the Intersect room, you came across the intruder as he was downloading the program to a portable device. It's equally possibly that he came upon you as you were working. We inferred that you struggled, based on the bruises you sustained and the scrapes on your hands. You were unsuccessful in your attempt to stop him, not surprising considering you were up against a trained field agent. After finishing his download, he placed an explosive charge on the Intersect computer and then fled from the room. In his hurry, it's possible he set the timer for longer than intended."

"But you said he was shot, that he didn't get away."

"Yes, that's true, he didn't. During his escape attempt, he ran across the NSA agent from your team. They knew each other and the traitor, aware that he would not be able to explain his being in possession of the Intersect program, drew his weapon. He was killed in the ensuing gun-battle. As well, his storage device was hit by a round and suffered irreparable damage, leaving only enough data fragments behind to indicate what it had contained. Our agent survived, but he did take a bullet to the leg. Fortunately, not a serious wound."

"Why was he even there?"

"It seems that your team felt you needed to be protected from yourself, to make sure you wouldn't go against orders. After they discussed the situation, the agents on your team assigned themselves the job of keeping close tabs on you. To that end, they later told me that they'd planted a hidden GPS tracking app on your phone. When they realized that you were on the move that night they followed, a few minutes behind.

"It was fortunate that they did, otherwise, Fulcrum would have had the Intersect and you would have died."

"I don't understand."

"The bomb, Chuck. The bomb in the Intersect room?"

He smacks himself in the forehead. "Of course. Knowing that it didn't go off kinda made me forget about it."

"Chuck, it did go off. The only reason you're still here is that the CIA agent on your team found you in the room, unconscious. She was able to drag you to safety mere seconds before the device detonated."

"General, that can't be right. If both the original and backups were destroyed, how did I download the Intersect?"

"Remember, you were found unconscious."

"Had I been knocked out during the fight?"

"At first, we'd thought so, but we were unable to find any physical evidence to support that. We were able to ascertain that an Intersect download was initiated while the two of you were in the room. Whether this was accidental or purposeful, we don't know.

"We do know that the attacker wore the required protective sunglasses, evidenced by the fact that he didn't lose consciousness, the standard physiological response to the procedure."

She looks closely at him. "Chuck, we eventually came to the conclusion that you were exposed to a complete Intersect download, unprotected from its effects. That was why you weren't conscious when she found and saved you."

It all makes sense, and once again, in some undefinable manner, he knows it to be true. "So, no e-mail, no Bryce Larkin. He was a part of the life I made up?" Although the idea of having a "Swiss cheese memory" (Chuck had loved Quantum Leap when he was younger. Or was that Charles?) is confusing and disconcerting, on balance, it's better that Bryce never really existed. This way he'd only imagined all the things the man had put him through. Yes, it was good the man wasn't real.

Her next words, therefore, catch him by surprise. "No, you didn't make him up. There _was_ a Bryce Larkin, and you knew him. Not well, perhaps, but you did know him. He was one of our second group volunteers. However, he tested too low for you to consider using him.

"Chuck, Bryce Larkin was the Fulcrum agent who left you to die in the Intersect room that night. So, in one way or another, he remains the person to blame for what happened to you."

 _Damn!_ He should have known the whole _imaginary_ Bryce Larkin thing was just too easy. That man (who ever this one really was) seemed to always find a way to cause him grief.

He suddenly realizes that he's been so engrossed in the events leading up to his becoming the Intersect, that he's almost forgotten there's much more to the story.

"General, what did happen to me? You said I created Chuck Bartowski when I became the Intersect. I assume we talked about this and decided this would be the best way to conceal my identity from Fulcrum, yet still be able to utilize the Intersect. Yes, I can see that makes sense. But why Burbank of all places? Of course. Close enough to the LA core, but obscure enough that no one would think the Intersect would be there."

He's suddenly on a roll and doesn't notice Beckman trying to interrupt. He just keeps on talking, more and more rapidly as the thoughts keep coming.

"So it was decided to send me to Burbank to live with Ellie and Devon. I guess you somehow got my sister to go along with the idea that she had to pretend she was now Ellie Bartowski, not Carmichael. How did you do that, pull the national security card? I probably helped to convince her as well, I'm guessing."

Beckman opens her mouth, but before she can utter a single word he plows on, unheeding. "Never mind. Whatever we did, it worked. And I guess it was the same for Devon and Morgan, not that Morgan would have any problem agreeing to the cloak and dagger stuff. So I would reconnect with Morgan, work at the Buy More as a cover. You would send Casey and Sarah to protect and work with me."

He pauses for a split second. "You're right, it is farfetched, but it seems to have worked. What happened to my old team? Did they stay here to work on rebuilding the Intersect? I would really like to see them again. It would be great to see their faces when I tell them about some of the things the Intersect did accomplish. Maybe seeing them would jog my memory, help me remember more about being Charles Carmichael. It would be great for them to meet the group from Burbank. I think they'd get along quite well. You could arrange for that right now. We could have some sort of get-acquainted party. Why don't I remember helping to plan all of this? And why Bartowski? It seems like such an odd name to choose. And why-"

The General reaches over to grab the hand he'd been waving around. Raising her voice, she cuts him off. "Stop, Chuck, stop! You're spiraling!"

Surprised by her actions, he does stop speaking, although his mind continues to whirl.

"Chuck, you're not thinking this through."

He brings his eyes to hers, puzzled.

After a few seconds, she quietly says, "Listen carefully. Your logic is faulty. It seems you're willing to accept that Chuck Bartowski never really existed. So why do you assume that the most important people in his life are any more real than him?"

"But I know they exist! You told me they do!"

"Yes, they do exist. They're just not exactly who you believe them to be."

She pauses to take a deep breath. "Charles Carmichael's parents died some ten years ago. He is an only child. He has no sister. There's no Ellie and, for that matter, no Devon, no Morgan, no Casey," she pauses for a second, "and no Sarah. Not really."

He's stunned into silence.

"Like Chuck Bartowski, they're manufactured identities, constructs. Five volunteers, knowing how critical it was for us to have a functioning Intersect, put their own lives on hold in order to play those roles. In the end, it was the only way to ensure the Intersect would remain operative, so they did what had to be done. They became whom you needed them to be."

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: OK, before you start throwing virtual rotten tomatoes at me for shoving the whole show off a cliff, I will ask for your forbearance. The A/N for the next installment will be very, very important. Please read it carefully._

 _Until then, WvonB_


	4. Chapter 3 Carmichael

_A/N: As you nice readers have so astutely observed in your kind reviews, this story has always had the potential to proceed in two fundamentally different directions. One, where a main protagonists has been truthful with Chuck, and another where that same person's been lying through her teeth._

 _It seems that many of you have been wondering which line I was going to choose. When I started writing this, I was fairly certain where I was going to take this story. However, pretty much simultaneous with me having some different ideas, came a very intriguing suggestion from Michaelfmx, my beta. (I tell you this so that if everything goes terribly, horribly, wrong, you can blame him.) ;)_

 _So after much thought, and some level of self-doubt, here's the course I've decided on._

 _Both._

 _Yes, you read that right. Starting from this point onwards, I'm going to tell two stories. Ones that, while they started off exactly the same way, will, from this point on, rapidly diverge._

 _I expect this isn't a unique idea, but I do believe it to be uncommon. I know there's been stories with alternate endings, but here you're going to get an alternate whole bunch of stuff in the middle as well._

 _Therefore, each installment from now on will comprise two chapters, released simultaneously. One will follow the Carmichael arc. The other, the Bartowski arc. So please pay attention to the chapter headings. And if you ever find yourselves confused about some plot point, that it doesn't seem to make sense, heres the rule: Remember the first paragraph of this author's note. (As I've had to do numerous times.)_

 _I'm not going to insult your intelligence by telling you outright which arc is the one where Chuck is being told the truth. I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough._

 _So you see, all of your guesses were simultaneously both right and wrong. But, hey, I figure this way you can follow whichever story line you please. Or both. (Or neither if you don't like this whole cockamamie idea.)_

 _Thanks as always to my beta Michaelfmx. (You evil, evil man) Any errors you see are my responsibility._

 _I seem to remember mentioning in an earlier A/N something about a bumpy ride. I think this is where the turbulence starts kicking in._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

" _Like Chuck Bartowski, they're fabricated identities, constructs. Five volunteers, knowing how critical it was for us to have a functioning Intersect, put their own lives on hold in order to play those roles. In the end, it was the only way to ensure the Intersect would remain operative, so they did what had to be done. They became whom you needed them to be."_

…

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 3 Carmichael**

The room around him seems to rapidly recede, and Chuck can't help but be reminded of that deeply unsettling dolly zoom shot from Jaws. It's like he's shrinking or the walls are getting further away, he doesn't know which. He's never experienced anything even remotely close to this profound sense of disorientation, which, at this moment, threatens to completely overwhelm him.

He's never felt more alone. And it terrifies him.

Any chance he'd had of fully accepting that he's this whole other person, of being able to move on with his life, all of that, he knows, had been based on the premise that he would have his family, his friends, his colleagues there to sustain him. Everything had hinged on the people he trusts and loves being at his side through it all.

Except that the people he thought he knew so well are fakes, no more real than actors playing a role dictated by some script. Parts played only for the cause of the greater good, not out of any real concern, any real feelings for him.

Then it hits him.

 _Sarah_.

Every unselfish action she'd taken, every tender word she'd spoken, every affectionate smile she'd sent his way, every little hope she'd engendered in his heart, all of it, was a sham. All done just to prop up the Intersect, to keep him functioning. Like he was some kind of machine.

And not just her. It was all of them. Strangers playing their parts to help the poor, pathetic dupe in their charge.

Seemingly out of nowhere, comes the memory of Sarah and him watching TV one evening. He'd surfed until he'd found "The Truman Show" and, over her protestations, decided to watch it. Usually, he deferred to her preferences, but for some reason he was stubborn on that particular occasion. Something about the plot had pulled him in, although he hadn't known exactly what it was. He remembered that Sarah had seemed tense, had been unusually quiet during the whole time, that was, until the main character finally found out his life was nothing more than some director's fantasy. Then, at what sounded like a choking sob, he'd turned to see Sarah, her chest heaving, tears welling up in her eyes. When she caught him staring, dumbfounded, she'd suddenly stood and, with nary a goodbye, headed home. He'd never been able to find out what had upset her.

Now he understands. At least she had _some_ decency, enough to feel at least a little remorse over what she and the others were doing to him.

Not that this is enough to stop the rage he feels rising in his chest.

There's fire in his voice as he brings his eyes back to Beckman. "So you brought in a bunch of strangers to fool me, to con me, so you could have the Intersect. You put me in the charge of people who didn't really give a damn about me! You said I was your friend. Is that what friends do? Deceive, mislead at every turn?"

She slams her palm on the table between them. "Enough, Agent Carmichael!"

He's taken aback by her sudden fury.

Her tone of voice is stern, forceful. "Agent, it's easy to tell that you're picturing yourself at the center of some massive, evil conspiracy, one bent on callously using you. Surrounded by uncaring people who only view you as some sort of machine. But you're speaking from a position of ignorance. I would strongly suggest you reserve judgment until you know what actually happened. Am I clear on this?"

Cowed, he's only able to muster a nod.

"It's about time you came down off your high horse and started using your brain. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and try to be logical rather than emotional."

He can see she's still fuming as she takes a few deep breaths before speaking again.

"Chuck, they weren't strangers. They were, they _are,_ people who care very deeply for you." Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Especially one of them."

"Who _are_ they, General?"

"Think, Chuck. Really think of whom they could be. Who spent the most time with you before this all happened? Who knew you best? Who would care enough to put their own lives on hold, not just for the Human Intersect but more importantly for the person who so unwittingly became it?"

He's bewildered. "I can't-"

"Yes, you can. I've already told you what you need to figure this out. _Think_."

"Oh!" Hope and doubt warring within him, he almost whispers, "My team?"

She nods. "Yes, your team. Once they knew what needed to be done, there was absolutely no hesitation on their part. I never told them, but I knew that taking care of you was actually first on their minds, even above national security. I need you to remember this because it's easy to see you're feeling betrayed right now. And you're going to learn things which will make you feel even more so.

"They all went through hell for you. Have given up so much. Some more than others. So give them a chance. Don't prejudge. Listen to their side carefully. And never forget they were only doing what was asked of them."

She pauses. "What _you_ required from them."

His frustration is clear. "General, I don't understand. You're saying that I'm behind all of this, that somehow I've orchestrated this whole farfetched scheme."

"That's because in a way you did, with some help from your friends."

"How? It just doesn't seem possible."

"Remember those two doctors I mentioned?"

"Yes."

"It's best if you speak with them now. They'll be able to answer that question much better than I can, as well as the many others I'm sure you'll have."

She stands. "I'll go and get them." Looking at him closely, she adds, "Why don't you go and splash some cold water on your face? You're looking a little pale."

"OK." He rises from his chair. "Will you be staying?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Right now it seems like you're the only real person I know. Well, you and Karen. The doctors who tested me earlier were kind of unfriendly. I don't know if I'll be comfortable with them alone. I'd just feel better if you were here."

The General gives him an odd little smile. "Chuck, I have to return to the office, but I'm pretty sure you'll be comfortable with these two."

He's a little unsure, but nods. "Alright." As he starts walking toward the washroom she stops him with a word.

"Chuck?"

He turns back to her. "Yes, General?"

"I'll not pretend that the Intersect wasn't of vital importance. Yes, we needed it, desperately. So we all did what had to be done for the sake of the country. But never forget that your team was loyal first of all to _you_. They would've committed treason rather than let you come to any sort of harm. From _anyone_."

Looking at him, she adds quietly, so quietly that he has to strain to hear her. "They came very close to crossing the line, numerous times. But even if they had, I wouldn't have stopped them. I would've, in fact, found a way to help them. And just to be clear, Agent, if you ever repeat what I just said, I _will_ deny it."

As Beckman walks to the door, Chuck finds himself rooted to the floor, his mouth agape. It seems that he's not the only one in the room who's not whom they appear to be.

…

He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, towel in hand. He'd followed the General's advice about the cold water, but doesn't really think it's helped all that much. He still looks pale.

Not that it's surprising. The face staring back at him looks so familiar, and yet, at the same time, is suddenly so strange to him.

 _Who am I?_

Up to an hour ago, he'd been so sure. Up to an hour ago, he'd never asked. There had never been any need.

He wipes his face with the towel and looks to the mirror again.

 _I have no idea._

 _..._

As he steps out of the bathroom, Chuck sees two people standing near the window, their backs to him. The strong light behind them casts the pair into silhouette, so all he can tell is that it's a man and a woman, both of above average height.

But there's something about them that triggers a response in him. Suddenly, he finds himself drawn like a moth to a flame. He walks quickly across the room and, just as he reaches the two people, they turn around.

Devon. Ellie.

Before he realizes what he's doing, he draws the woman into a close embrace, one that's quickly returned. Unbidden tears come to his eyes. She feels, smells so familiar. And just for a moment, he's home. Safe. With his sister.

Until he remembers she isn't that at all.

He pulls away, disappointed that he so easily let himself fall back into the old ways. Ways that are not, in truth, really that old at all. Not only that, but also ways so far removed from reality as to make the most outrageous soap opera plots seem quite reasonable.

His sudden ire pushes Beckman's admonition from his mind. He wants nothing more than to rage at her for the role she's played in this monstrous deception. He's ready to give free rein to his anger, tell her just what he thinks of a person who would lie to him, so intimately, so thoroughly, so convincingly for so long.

He opens his mouth, about to vent his fury, but stops himself as he takes note of the dark circles under her eyes, the tears running unhindered down her cheeks, the relief in her expression. And he knows there's no acting here.

Whoever this woman really is, she genuinely cares for him. After all, what point would there be for any further pretense?

After taking a deep breath, she swipes away her tears with one hand, tightly grasps his right hand with the other. "Chuck, we were so worried. We thought we'd lost you."

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he turns to see the man he knew as Devon, smiling through his own tears, saying, "It's great to have you back, Chuck."

Perhaps Beckman was right. Maybe they really _have_ gone through hell for him.

He's not sure what he should do next, looks around, a little bewildered. Noticing an extra chair has been added around the window table, he says, "Would you like to sit down?" When they do, the woman seats herself to his right, the man across the table.

"I'm confused. You both seem to care for me and yet you haven't visited. Why the hell not?" The last sentence is delivered with some feeling, surprising him a little. Evidently, not all his anger has dissipated.

She calmly replies, "Chuck, we did visit you before, but when you came out of the coma, it was apparent that it hadn't gone as we'd hoped. With the confusion over your identity, we talked about it and decided it would be best to hold off for a while before we started springing all of us on you. It would likely have been too much to handle all at once. It became clear that, for some reason, the only person you kind of remembered, from before and now, was General Beckman. So we felt that it would be less of a shock if she was the first to tell you what was going on. Kind of ease you into the reality of your situation."

The man adds, "It was hard on all of us, waiting. But, Chuck, you need to trust us when we tell you, it was the best for everyone concerned."

He nods, sort of understanding. Wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans, Chuck says, "I guess introductions are in order, then. You obviously know who I am and I can't keep thinking of you as Ellie and Devon, now can I?" He tries to keep the note of bitterness out of his voice, but is quite certain that he doesn't entirely succeed.

Apparently choosing not to notice it, the woman answers first, smiling. "Hi, I'm—"

…

" _Dr. Rachel Kellner." She offers her hand and Chuck takes it a little nervously. He's always flustered by beautiful women, and Rachel Kellner, with her stunning amber eyes and wavy brunette hair, is certainly that._

 _She seems to sense his discomfort, so gives him a warm, reassuring smile. "I'm a neurologist."_

" _It's nice to meet you, Dr. Kellner."_

 _She smiles again. "Rachel, please. We'll be working very closely together. No need for formalities."_

 _More at ease, he grins back. "OK, Rachel. In that case, you can call me Chuck."_

 _Chuck, knowing how much the General would frown upon this lack of proper military decorum, is glad that Beckman has been called away from this introductory meeting,_

 _He turns his attention to the tall man standing alongside Rachel. His first thought is that there's no way this guy is a doctor. He looks like he should be a male model, with his chiseled good looks, broad shoulders._

 _Suddenly feeling a little intimidated, he holds out his hand,_

 _The man reciprocates, and in a deep booming voice, says, "Hi, Chuck. I'm Eric Avery. I'm a neurosurgeon—_

…

"—with experience in biomechanics. We're both experienced ER trauma doctors as well."

Chuck feels a sudden pain behind his eyes, puts his head down. He looks up when he hears the concern in Ellie's, or rather, Rachel's voice.

"Chuck! What just happened there?" He sees the worry in her eyes. "It's almost like you weren't here for a few seconds."

He nods, rubbing his temples as the pain subsides. "In a way, I wasn't. I could've sworn that I was back at our first meeting. It just seemed so real, so crystal clear. It didn't feel like a memory."

"Has that happened before?"

"Yeah. Earlier, but a little less intensely. It was when General Beckman told me about the beginnings of the project. But the details just don't seem to stick. I can remember having the memory but I can't remember what it was about, if that makes any sense."

He looks to the two of them, bewildered. "What do you think it means?"

The doctors look at each other, and Chuck feels there's some sort of silent conversation going on between them.

Rachel turns back to him. "We're not sure, but it could be a hopeful sign."

"Do you think some of my memories might be coming back?"

"Possibly. Hopefully. But the fact they're not sticking is a little worrisome. We'll need to look into that a bit more."

He nods. "OK. With that in mind, let me make sure I've got this right, in case this memory fades too. Rachel Kellner and Eric Avery?"

They both nod.

"Rachel, you're a neurologist, right? Both then and now?"

"Yes."

He looks over to Eric, "And you're a neurosurgeon."

"Uh-huh."

"You aren't by chance a cardiologist as well?"

Eric is surprised. "No, why would you think that?"

"There's the problem. That's what I remember you as being."

They both share a look again before bringing their attention back to him.

There's compassion in Rachel's words and tone of voice. She takes Chuck's hand again. "Chuck, that's the kind of stuff we're here to talk about. I know General Beckman has already spoken to you about some of what _actually_ happened as opposed to what you _believed_ to have happened in your life. We're here to try and help you understand what and why. Well, as least as much as we understand ourselves. Is that OK?"

He nods choppily, torn between apprehension and his need to know.

"First of all, Eric and I were brought in because our areas of expertise would enable the team to get a better understanding of how the Intersect could be made compatible with the human brain, and how it would affect it."

Eric speaks up. "But not only the brain. Because the Intersect would also impart physical abilities, it was important to understand how it would affect the body as well. In the end, all the implanted physical abilities in the world would be of no use if the person's physiology was such that those actions couldn't be carried out."

"Hang on. I don't remember having any special physical abilities. Did I forget that as well?"

"No, you didn't. That aspect of the Intersect turned out to be much more difficult to implement than we'd anticipated. It hadn't yet been incorporated into the version of the Intersect you wound up downloading."

Chuck nods. "I understand."

Rachel picks up the conversation. "Chuck, I know you'll want to know more about the early days of Project Omaha and so on, but right now we believe the most critical issue is to first explain what happened to you after the download. And then tell you how you wound up here. Would you agree?"

It's on the tip of his tongue to say no, that, like earlier, he wants to know it all, right now. But he holds himself back as he recognizes the reasonableness of her suggestion.

"Yes, I agree."

"Good. I understand that General Beckman hasn't told you all the details of what happened right after you were found unconscious. Is that right?"

"Yes. She just gave me a general picture of the aftermath."

"OK. We'll start there then. If I cover something Beckman's already mentioned, just bear with me."

"Not a problem."

She pauses, apparently to gather her thoughts. "Both Eric and I were immediately called in when the incident at the Intersect lab became known. We arrived here just about the same time the medics brought you and the others in. To say the situation was chaotic would be a massive understatement. Initially, we had no idea what had just happened.

"All we knew was that we had an NSA agent with a gunshot wound to the thigh. You, apparently comatose. One dead CIA agent, and another one who was quietly freaking out, refusing to leave your side."

His heart leaps a little. "Wait, El...Rachel. What was that last part again?"

She looks at him an unreadable expression. "I think it would be best if I let her tell you about that later. OK?"

Again he wants to disagree, but he's starting to realize that he just has to be patient.

In his deep voice, Eric adds, "Just as we were starting to get a handle on things, we were informed about the destruction of the data storage facility. When those casualties started to arrive, things went to hell pretty quickly. We ascertained that neither your condition nor the gunshot wound was a critical priority. So we focused on the victims of the building explosion. We lost two but managed to save six others."

"Why did they bring the casualties here and not a regular ER?"

"Two reasons. First, we were actually the closest. Secondly, for security purposes. We couldn't have the victims inadvertently leaking classified data while under civilian care. Yes, we were busy, but other staff had been pulled in, so we were able to handle it. In any case, the two we lost were beyond help before they arrived here."

Rachel takes up the story once more. "When matters finally settled down, some hours later, we were able to check up on you. You were still unresponsive, but we couldn't find any physical injuries which would account for it. The agent, your guardian angel, if you will, who'd stayed with you the whole time, then informed us that you'd been rescued from the Intersect room just before its destruction. She also mentioned that, as she dragged you out, she'd seen a damaged pair of safety sunglasses on the floor. We assumed that they were yours, so started to investigate the possibility that you'd been subjected to an Intersect download. To make a long story short, within a few hours we had enough evidence to be certain that's what happened to you.

"We were frantic with worry. Exactly what we'd feared and done our very best to prevent, had happened. And now it seemed you'd paid the price."

Eric says, "However, once we began our evaluations, we found that your brainwave activity, far from indicating you were comatose, was, instead, running at a very high level. Almost hyperactive. We didn't know what it meant, but it was certainly better than the alternative. This went on for two days with no perceptible change. Until one morning you simply woke up."

Rachel adds, "At first glance, it appeared you were OK, but then we quickly realized things were not as they seemed. It was quite clear that you had suffered a major psychotic break of some sort."

At this, Chuck is jerked back to reality. For the last few minutes, he'd been so engrossed in the story that he'd almost forgotten that it was him, not some stranger being discussed.

"What...what did I do? Did I start acting crazy? Was I violent? Abusive?"

Rachel chuckles, seemingly at the absurdity of such an idea. "No, Chuck. You started to talk. And talk. And talk."

Chuck has to admit that sounds like something he would be much more likely to do.

"And as you spoke, it was obvious that you were in a dissociative fugue state."

"I don't know what that means."

"It's a rare condition, Chuck. One that, in this case, was characterized, to a significant degree, by amnesia, a loss of your personal identity, memories and personality."

"So that's why I don't remember Charles Carmichael."

"Basically, yes. In most cases, the amnesia passes with time. But your case was much more complex." She squeezes Chuck's hand a little more tightly. "Chuck, even though you'd displayed a significantly greater aptitude than anyone else, what you downloaded was simply too much, even for _you_ to handle. Your mind had to find a way to protect itself from all the Intersect had dumped into it."

"How did I do that?" But even as he asks, he realizes that he already knows the answer.

"You did so by creating a new identity for yourself. We believed the brainwave activity we'd observed for the previous two days was that process."

Devon adds, "But what happened wasn't just about the overload of information. It was also about the personal memories that were too painful to handle.

"Memories? What do you mean?"

"Chuck, as our failures had mounted, you'd been wracked with guilt. We tried, all of us, to help you understand that we succeed or fail as a team, but you were having none of it. You took the entire blame upon yourself for what had happened to those men and women."

"Beckman told me about that."

Rachel nods. "Yes. And it changed you. During the month which separated our last failure from that night in the lab, you were a different man. Morose. Driven. Intolerant of personal failings." She pauses before asking, "Did Beckman also tell you that you'd wanted to download it yourself?"

"She did. She said the team was dead set against it."

She replies, "Yes, we were. It was clear to all of us that this was your attempt to punish yourself for what the Intersect had done to the minds of those four _volunteers_."

Chuck hears the slight stress on the last word, recognizes it as an attempt to comfort him, even at this late date.

Eric adds, "Chuck, they all knew, right from the beginning, that they were taking a serious risk. Even after what had happened to the first two became known, no one backed out. Chuck, they made the choice."

"However, you refused to see it that way," says Rachel. "So you felt you had to pay the full price for what you perceived as your errors. It almost destroyed you, and, at some point, almost certainly _would_ have done so, had that night not happened."

Rachel stops, making sure she has his full attention before going on, "Your mind gave you a way out. A way to not only escape the crushing burden of your guilt, but also a way to do some good with the very thing that had almost caused your destruction.

"So, Charles Irving Bartowski came into being. An innocent man, a good man. One who'd never done any serious harm to another human being in his entire life. A victim rather than a victimizer, if you will. A man who, through no fault of his own, now had this almost unbearably heavy load of the Intersect thrust upon him. But a man who was determined to use this unwanted ability to help others, even if it came at a serious cost to himself."

He's stunned by her words. Words that so accurately describe him. He's just not sure which him.

Rachel continues, "You then told us his story, all the way from his youth onward."

Devon adds, "Exactly who you were when you told us of Chuck's life, we're not sure. Perhaps, in some way we don't understand, this was the last gasp of Charles Carmichael, doing his best to protect himself before he disappeared."

"I couldn't possibly tell you everything from his life, could I?"

"No, you're right. It was more episodic, hitting the highlights that made him, _him._ You wove into the story an environment for him, a time and place where he could live. In effect, you told us what kind of world would need to exist in order for the Intersect to function. But more importantly, a world where _you_ could survive, at least in some form."

"I'm confused. How and when did I tell you all this? I don't remember."

"Chuck, when you woke up, you were in what could be termed a lucid interval. However, you weren't awake in the traditional sense, not truly aware of anyone or anything around you. So it's not surprising you recall none of this. But, as I mentioned, you did talk. A lot. And very quickly. Fortunately, we recorded it all, for the story you told us was lengthy, complex, and, in some ways, excruciatingly detailed."

She smiles. "For example, it even included the kind of footwear Chuck Bartowski preferred."

Surprised, he instinctively looks down at his Chuck-clad feet. "I didn't wear these before?"

Eric answers, "No, Chuck, but they kinda became your trademark after."

Oddly enough, this little, almost inconsequential revelation hits him hard, drives home, once again, the disturbing, frightening dichotomy of his existence.

"You also made it clear that your world would need to include certain family, friends and colleagues," Rachel adds.

Chuck nods as it dawns upon him. "So I made up identities and histories for the five of you as well."

"In a way. But it's not as if you said, 'Here's the legend for Ellie Bartowski' and then rattled it off. No, what you would do is simply talk about her in your narrative. What she'd gone through in her life, what she'd done, how she acted, how she felt about things, etcetera. And the same for the others. As you spoke, it was easy to see that a lot of the story was based on our interactions over the years."

"But I thought you told me that I didn't remember any of my life before that night. So how could I do that?"

"We're not completely certain. Most likely, a part of you somehow managed to retain some subconscious recollection of who all of us were and how close we'd been, as all the personas you described were in most ways quite close to who we actually were. There were some significant differences, but overall, we all could recognize ourselves in these new identities."

He ponders over this for a few moments. "So how much did I cover? Until when?"

"Basically, right up to the point where you downloaded the Intersect from Bryce's email and the two government agents were assigned to work with you."

"Hold on, there's a problem. How could I weave Sarah and Casey's personas into the story if it stopped just as they arrived?"

"Chuck, if this had been a real story that would have been a problem. But your tale was anything but that. In actuality, what you were giving us was a blueprint for the people that had to be by your side if you were to survive. So, giving us, as you did during the course of the story, numerous insights into the backgrounds of Sarah and Casey, was quite understandable. Because, of course, you knew them well, as well as the others who had shared this fictitious history with you. This was evident by the fact, as I mentioned earlier, that, like the rest of us, their personas were very similar to who they were in real life."

Devon adds, "But, as you recalled nothing of what you'd told us, they were complete strangers to you when we played out the whole Bryce e-mail Intersect thing and the events that immediately followed."

"So let make sure I'm clear about this. All the way up to and including that point in time, all of your were pretty much going by my script, so to speak."

Rachel and Eric both nod.

"So that means that everything that followed was improvised?"

"In a sense, yes, but in other ways, no. I believe you'll find that most of the events you remember from the past three years will turn out to be real, but we had to improvise our responses in line with our characters. But it did become easier with time."

Chuck shakes his head. He can see the weird logic of it all, but still finds it incredibly frustrating that he doesn't recall any of it.

"It was also telling, that, while all of us were given our quirks and imperfections, none of our backgrounds included any involvement in the Intersect's creation. We believed it to be your attempt to absolve us of any of the blame for that disaster. That and the fact that each of us, in our own way, were given a role which would help and support Chuck Bartowski through all of it. The psych teams feel this was your way of asking for help, in effect acknowledging that you couldn't get through this on you own."

"You said a lot of the story came from the time we'd spent together. Where did the rest come from?"

"We can only guess. The Intersect contains an enormous amount of data, so you perhaps you found a way to draw from it. As well, you were, you are a bit of a pop culture junkie with an active imagination. Likely a lot of it was an amalgam of movies, TV shows and graphic novels. Some wish fulfillment as well." Rachel chuckles. "One of the team even suggested that someday we could use it as a screenplay. That is, assuming it ever became declassified."

Chuck grins. "OK, but I want the writing credit if that ever happens."

Grinning in turn, both doctors nod.

Serious again, Chuck asks, "It must have taken a while to lay this all out, right?"

Eric replies, "About eighteen hours. You were on a tear. We couldn't risk stopping you, as we didn't know what effect that would have. So we let you talk. Your voice was rather hoarse towards the end, though."

"And then what happened?"

"You fell asleep," answers Rachel.

"That seems rather anti-climactic."

"Yes, it was. But you were exhausted, desperately needed the rest. Besides, you'd done your part. You'd told us what was needed. Now it was our turn."

Chuck just shakes his head, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

Rachel makes sure she has Chuck's full attention before she continues quietly, "So, Chuck, at that point we knew that if we were going to have a functioning Intersect and, more importantly, keep you safe until we found some way to bring you back, we'd have to take on those roles you had outlined for us. We hashed it out, and each of us agreed. And Ellie, Devon, Morgan, Casey and Sarah were born, so to speak.

"So we packed up our lives, and headed to Burbank where we set up, then proceeded to live in the world of Charles Irving Bartowski."

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N:So there it is. Some things are clearer now. (I hope.) The Bartwoski chapter 3 awaits you. (BTW kudos to any who can figure out where I got the names for our two doctors. They're not random.)_


	5. Chapter 3 Bartowski

_A/N: If you haven't read the A/N for the previous chapter three, stop right now and go back and do so. I mean it. Now._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

" _Like Chuck Bartowski, they're fabricated identities, constructs. Five volunteers, knowing how critical it was for us to have a functioning Intersect, put their own lives on hold in order to play those roles. In the end, it was the only way to ensure the Intersect would remain operative, so they did what had to be done. They became whom you needed them to be."_

…

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 3 Bartowski**

The room around him seems to rapidly recede, and Chuck can't help but be reminded of that deeply unsettling dolly zoom shot from Jaws. It's like he's shrinking or the walls are getting further away, he doesn't know which. He's never experienced anything even remotely close to this profound sense of disorientation, which, at this moment, threatens to completely overwhelm him.

He's never felt more alone. And it terrifies him.

Any chance he'd had of fully accepting that he's this whole other person, of being able to move on with his life, all of that, he knows, had been based on the premise that he would have his family, his friends, his colleagues there to sustain him. Everything had hinged on the people he trusts and loves being at his side through it all.

Except that the people he thought he knew so well are fakes, no more real than actors playing a role dictated by some script.

Abruptly, it hits him.

 _Sarah_.

Every unselfish action she'd taken, every tender word she'd spoken, every affectionate smile she'd sent his way, every little hope she'd engendered in his heart, all of it, was a sham. All done just to prop up the Intersect, to keep him functioning. Like he was some kind of machine.

And not just her. It was all of them. Strangers playing their parts in order to control the poor, pathetic dupe in their charge.

And, with that realization, his terror changes to anger.

There's fire in his voice as he brings his eyes back to Beckman. "So you brought in a bunch of strangers to fool me, to con me, just so you could use that thing in my head. You put me in the charge of people who didn't really give a damn about me! You said I was your friend. Is that what friends do? Deceive, mislead at every turn?"

"Chuck, I just wish there had been another way, but in the end, we had no other choice. We were losing the war against Fulcrum. We simply had to have the Intersect."

She pauses. "I know it doesn't sound like much at this point, but I'm genuinely sorry that we had to put you through all of that. And I'll add, the agents who played those parts also felt terrible about what they had to do."

He makes no attempt to disguise the dripping sarcasm of his words. "My heart bleeds for them."

"If it's any consolation, they all grew fond of you during the op."

"Yeah, in the same way they'd feel about a pet dog."

Beckman says nothing in reply.

His tone is bitter. "I'd really like to meet them and thank them for taking such good care of me these past few years. Really made me feel like I was loved, a part of one, big happy family."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Considering how you would feel when you discovered what they'd done, the doctors felt it would be best to make a clean break. For both sides sake. At least, for the time being. Your former team members have been reassigned, now that they're no longer needed in Burbank."

His gut tells him that the doctors were right. If he saw his "team" right now, he's not certain he could be held responsible for his actions. Still fuming, he asks, "So, where are they now? Gone back to their real lives now that the poor little Intersect-less idiot no longer requires their counterfeit concern?"

"I know this sounds callous, but the answer is fundamentally yes. They _did_ have their own lives before they took on this assignment. They all had family and friends that they were unable to be with while they took care of you."

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, there's a part of him that does empathize with the sacrifices they made in order to take care of him. He can only imagine how difficult it must have been for them to be away from the people they loved for such a long period of time. Not that this, in any significant way, lessens the fury he feels over their betrayal.

 _Wait. What did she say?_

"General, you said they all had families. What kind of families? Do you mean wives and…husbands? That sort of thing?"

"Some of them, yes."

He's afraid to ask, can barely get the word out. "Her?"

Beckman says nothing, but to Chuck the implication is clear.

It all makes sense. All her reluctance to define their relationship, all her evasiveness about her feelings for him, is suddenly understandable. She'd just been leading him on, knowing full well it could never progress beyond a certain point, even if she had somehow found herself truly caring for him.

It's an absolute soul-crushing revelation. Until this very moment, he hadn't realized that he'd been clinging to a minuscule shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, somewhere down the road, this would be the one relationship he could somehow turn into something real. The one thing that would make his horribly uncertain future worth living. Of course, now that's all shot to hell as well.

And with that, his shoulders slump as all the fight goes out of him.

It seems the General picks up on his despair. "Chuck, I can only imagine how you're feeling right now. Having to rebuild your life from scratch."

"How about my old team from Washington? Could they help?" he asks, but only half-heartedly. He doubts they could really be of much use, considering he has no real memories of them and feels no sort of emotional attachment.

She shakes her head. "No, they're not around anymore. After you left, the team was disbanded. Without your leadership, they weren't making any real progress on a new Intersect. I think they lost their enthusiasm for the project after they saw what happened to you. The agents were reassigned, overseas postings, I believe. The others I've lost track of, but I think they went into the private sector. In any case, the relationship you'd had was basically terminated when you became the Intersect."

"What do you mean?"

"After the events occurred that led to you becoming Chuck Bartowski, you no longer remembered them. Effectively, they became strangers to you. You'd been close, but when it appeared that Charles Carmichael was gone for good, they accepted that they had to move on."

"I understand." He's suddenly struck by the fact that he has no idea what had happened after that fateful night. "General, what I _don't_ understand is how I came to be this person you say I became. And who became whom I needed them to be? And how?"

"I understand your confusion, Chuck. Remember those medical experts I mentioned? They're going to discuss that with you now. They'll be able to do a better job of explaining. I'll go and get them now."

He nods, choppily. "OK, but could you stay as well?"

"Why would you want that?"

"I really didn't feel comfortable with the doctors who've been testing me. And you and Karen seem to be the only real people I know. It would be nice to have someone around whom I could trust."

Standing, Beckman nods. "OK, Chuck. I can understand that's important right now, so I'll stay."

…

A few minutes later, Beckman ushers in two individuals, both in white lab coats. One is a tall, older man with greying hair. The other a younger black woman of average height. Neither are familiar to Chuck.

Gesturing to the man, Beckman says, "Chuck, this is Dr. Harlan Summers." Chuck shakes his hand. "And this is Dr. Jeanne Benton." Chuck shakes her hand as well.

In the interval, two chairs had been added around the table, so the four of them take their seats.

Beckman continues, "Both of them had been working with you on Project Omaha."

Chuck replies, feeling embarrassed, "I'm sorry, but I don't remember either of you."

Surprising him with his quiet English accent, the man answers, "No reason to feel bad about that, Charles. After all, it's partially our fault that you find yourself in this deplorable state in the first place."

"What? How could any of this be _your_ fault?"

The black woman replies, "In order to understand, you need to know that we'd been working with you on an auxiliary project."

"What project?"

Jeanne goes on, "It was designated as Summer Crest."

Chuck thinks for a moment, but the name doesn't ring any bells. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"No, just a name the computer came up with."

"Got it. What was it about?"

Harlan replies, "Basically, we were studying the feasibility of creating histories for field agents, but ones with far greater detail than even the best operative could ever hope to remember. The data would then be recorded in a digital form. Later, after we were read in on Project Omaha, we came to understand that the concept was to upload this data into the subject's mind. For all intents and purposes making the agent become that person, therefore creating a history he or she would never stumble over. A perfect cover identity for deep undercover missions."

Chuck frowns. "And I supposedly contributed to a project like that? I don't understand how I could have, knowing that we're fooling with the very core of a person. How could we possibly be sure that we'd ever be able to restore their real identity?"

Beckman answers, "No, you're right, Agent Carmichael. It was decided that unless we could completely guarantee the test subjects safety, Summer Crest was to remain a purely hypothetical exercise. With that in place, you were eager to contribute."

"Eager?" He shrugs. "I can see that, I guess. It would be an interesting puzzle. So, what did I do?"

Harlan answers, "First of all, you helped us with the technical aspects. What form the information coding would have to take, and so on. But you also helped us out on the practical side by providing us with a 'test identity', if you will. A very detailed, but totally fictitious history of a young man and the people in his life."

Suddenly, Chuck understands. "Let me guess. The man's name was Charles Irving Bartowski."

"Exactly. Over the years, as you added to his story, you told us it was a distraction, that writing fiction was a way to counteract some of the stress that Project Omaha had generated in your life."

Jeanne adds, "It was a pretty lengthy novel by the time everything went down."

"So, basically you're saying that I've been living a life I made up myself."

Both doctors nod. "Yes, but not only you. Someone had to play the parts for the other characters in Chuck Bartowski's story as well."

"How could you possibly make that happen?"

Beckman answers, "As I said, you were unconscious after the download, so they brought you here. At first, we thought you had suffered the same outcome as our volunteers, but it quickly became obvious that you hadn't. Instead of being in a vegetative state, your brainwaves indicated a high level of activity. This went on for about two days before you woke up. When you did, it was quite clear you weren't yourself. Instead, you insisted you were a man named Chuck Bartowski. Harlan and Jeanne were familiar with your story, so immediately realized where that came from. It became necessary to sedate you until we could figure out how to handle the situation. To make a long story short, we realized that, in order to have the Intersect, we would need to flesh out the world you'd created in Bartowski's deep cover story.

"First of all, we needed to find volunteers, agents or other CIA/NSA personnel, that were as close a physical match as possible to the descriptions in the text. 'Ellie' and 'Devon' were the most difficult to cast, so to speak, as they both had to be doctors as well. All the volunteers were stringently vetted, above and beyond what they'd previously gone through."

Chuck, finding himself drawn in by the story, just nods for her to go on.

"Once we worked that out, they all had to effectively become the people you'd described so well. Not just the histories, but how they would stay in character as the now unscripted part of Chuck Bartowski's life went forward. The closest analogy I can come up with is that of a live play where the actors are very familiar with their own characters and that of the others as well. They're given a script, but only to a certain point. Then it's all improvisation."

"Just how far did the scripted part actual go?"

Beckman answers, "Pretty much right up to the point where Chuck Bartowski was sent the Intersect and the two agents, 'Sarah' and 'Casey', were assigned to protect and work with him. Pretty much everything after that was extemporaneous, done on the fly."

Chuck stares, slack-jawed with amazement. "And they actually pulled that off?"

"Not perfectly, of course. They were glitches, mistakes made. Sometimes, they fell out of character. But overall they were believable, as you yourself can testify."

Chuck shakes his head, a little overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. "Yes, I suppose I can. So how much of Burbank _was_ real? I don't think even the government could create a completely fake world for me to inhabit."

"No, Chuck. All we could do was cover the key areas. We created a history for you at Stanford.

Did the same for our doctors and then worked matters so they could get placements at Westside Medical."

"And Echo Park. How did you manage that?"

"All the tenants were told that some significant structural work needed to be done and were offered generous move out packages. After that, we took over the entire building. Everyone who moved in after were our people."

"The Buy More?"

"Perhaps our crowning achievement. We purchased the franchise through a dummy corporation. We then placed one of our own agents in a key position."

"Who?"

"Michael Tucker. He was a low-level agent, so didn't know the whole story. The rest of the staff were real, unaware of what was going on behind the scenes. Big Mike was especially important in his role as manager, otherwise, you wouldn't have been given the time off you needed so often. And later, of course, the Morgan and Casey personas were slotted in."

Chuck asks, "That's all?"

Beckman nods.

He smiles. "That's a relief. For a moment, I had this horrible thought that you were going to say that Jeff and Lester were in on it too."

The two doctors look on, puzzled as Beckman chuckles. She turns to them and says, "They're two of the oddest individuals I've ever met. Apparently, Michael decided that they were good cover, that no one could ever think that a store that had the two of them on staff could be anything but a real dead-end kind of place."

Chuck nods, understanding. "OK, I think I've got it. But that still doesn't answer the question about how _he_ wound up here." Chuck taps his temple.

Harlan replies, sighing, "Ay, there's the rub. We don't really know. Possibly some act of psychological self-protection."

Jeanne continues, "But it's more likely that you were, on that night, testing the idea of making Summer Crest an integral part of the Intersect. You'd once mentioned the idea that a false identity overlay might somehow shield the agent's mind from the detrimental effects of the Intersect. But we have no way of knowing for sure if you had in fact integrated the two programs prior to your unwilling download. None of our surviving records gave us a definitive answer."

Chuck shakes his head. "It…, everything just seems so farfetched."

Beckman nods her head. "Yes, I agree. And yet here we are. The question is what do we do about it?"

Chuck gives Beckman a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"Chuck, you haven't asked the obvious questions. Why were you brought here? Why were you in a coma?"

That honestly surprises him. He takes himself to task about how he could have missed something so important.

 _Too engrossed in the story, I guess._

"You're right. I should have asked earlier. What did happen?"

Harlan answers, "A few weeks ago, we began to see more and more of Carmichael bleeding through, so to speak, into the Bartowski personality. Up to that point, we'd thought there was no chance of ever recovering your real self, but this gave us renewed hope. We had no idea if the situation was temporary or not, so we felt we had to move before Carmichael was submerged once again. We'd been working on a program that would remove the Intersect and hoped that its removal would allow Charles Carmichael to fully resurface."

Turning to Beckman, Chuck says, "But, General, you told me the Intersect was vital for the country's security, so why would you even try this?"

"Chuck, we did this for you. You'd served your country honorably for three years and you contribution had tipped the balance in our favor. Now you deserved to have a shot at getting you life back. We're just sorry that it didn't work."

He's touched by her sincerity and the efforts they'd made for him. "Thank you, Ma'am. I appreciate you thoughtfulness."

"You're welcome, Chuck. Nothing more than you deserved."

He turns to the two doctors. "And I thank both of you as well. And all the others who've been looking out for my welfare."

"It's nothing."

Turning back to Beckman he says, "Besides, while it may not have worked as well as you'd hoped, I did have that memory of you and I first meeting. That's something, isn't it?"

After glancing towards her partner, Jeanne replies, "Yes, it's something. But right now you're accepting that you're Carmichael based only on a single flashback and people telling you that you're him. In the end, that won't be enough to truly reestablish who you truly are. You'll have to _believe_ it in your heart and be fully convinced in your mind before that'll happen."

Harlan continues, "With that in mind, Charles, upon further analysis, we quite certain that we made a mistake in removing the Intersect. We believe that the traits of Charles Carmichael that we saw coming through were, in fact, the Intersect's way of trying to bring him back."

"What? Why do you think that?"

"Well, you designed it, Charles. It was inevitable that your psyche would be stamped all over it and that, given time, that personality would find its way to the surface. By removing the Intersect, it appears that we curtailed that process."

"So what are you saying to me?"

Beckman speaks up, "Chuck, we believe the only way for you to get back to who you truly are, is to voluntarily take on the Intersect once more. Then utilize it as you did before while waiting for Charles Carmichael to return on his own."

Chuck feels a little, icy spike of fear in his gut. But that rapidly turns into indignation. "General, that's asking a lot. You can't even be sure how I survived the first time and now you're asking me to take it on again?"

Beckman calmly replies, "We understand your apprehension. However, our Intersect team has made significant progress in the last few years. We've successfully downloaded an abbreviated version of the Intersect into two test subjects. We're confident that you would be able to handle the full version."

"That's easy for you to say, but there's no way to guarantee that you're right. It's my mind that's on the line here, and as messed up as it is right now, it's much better than the alternative."

"Yes, I understand. It would be a huge step. And that's why we're asking you to take a day or two to mull it over." She pauses. "You owe yourself at least that much."

"What do you mean?"

"Chuck, with all that's happened today, I expect you haven't had much of an opportunity to think about of you're going to do next. I know this sounds harsh, but you really have to give some thought as to who you are right now and what your opportunities might be. While you're an intelligent man, you don't have the skill set, the network or the credentials of Charles Carmichael. I assume you don't want to work at the Buy More for the rest of your life, but as Chuck Bartowski, you were kicked out of Stanford short of your degree. Potential employers would likely find that rather off-putting. We will, of course, if you want, keep you on. We owe you that much. However, it would only be as a low-level analyst, a position I'm certain you'd grow tired of. And, as you mentioned to me, the only real people you know and trust are Nurse Green and myself. You have no family to fall back on, and virtually no friends."

Her stark summation is almost overwhelmingly bleak, hitting Chuck hard. Beckman's right. Not that its surprising, but the truth is he hadn't thought anything much about his future. Just trying to figure out who he really is has consumed all his thought processes.

Still, the alternative being that he might not have any sort of life at all gives him pause.

"OK, General I'll think it over for a day or two. But no promises."

"We understand, Chuck. It's a huge decision. We wouldn't want you to feel pressured."

"If I was to say yes, how would this work? I wouldn't be sent back to Burbank would I?"

"No, Chuck, that would be much too dangerous. Too many people know you there. What we would do is set you up as the new owner of a local ISP we run in Casper, Wyoming. It functions as an actual business, but in reality, it's one of our internet chatter listening posts. You'd run the business part and would just spend a few hours a day flashing on data would we would send you. No missions, nothing in the field. Nothing much happens up there that would require you to be hands on. It's also far removed enough from the mainstream that you wouldn't likely run into any one who knew you as Carmichael or Bartowski."

He nods. "General, if I was to do this, and that's a very big if, I would have some definite conditions."

"What would they be?"

"Well, to start, my handler must be a man this time, Ma'am. And a guarantee that no one who works with me looks at all like Agent Walker, or whatever her real name is."

Beckman nods, and Chuck sees what he thinks is sympathy in her expression. "I understand. I'm sure we could work that out."

"OK. Good. For now."

Beckman stands, and Chuck, along with the two doctors, quickly follow suit. "I think we've thrown enough at you today, Chuck. We'll leave you now. Take whatever time you need to think over the idea."

Chuck shakes hands with all of them. "Thank you again for helping me through this whole mess."

"You're welcome."

"Our pleasure."

After the two doctors file out the door, Beckman looks back and says, "I'll be back in a few minutes to see if there's anything of a personal nature you'd like to discuss. Perhaps some issues you didn't want to mention in front of the doctors. In the meantime, I'll send in the nurse to check if there's anything you need. Please remember that she's not been read into any of this, so be careful what you say."

"Alright, and thank you, General."

As she leaves the room, he sits down again and turns to look out the window, lost in his thoughts.

…

When Karen opens the door of his room, her eyes are immediately drawn to the man sitting by the window.

Despondent. She doesn't know exactly why, but that's the first word that comes to mind when she sees him sitting with his head propped on his right arm, staring out the window.

Quickly crossing the space between them, she stops by his side. He doesn't look her way, which is unusual for him. Her voice is quiet, filled with concern, as she asks, "Hey, Chuck. How you holding up? Do you need anything?"

He turns to her and Karen is immediately struck his hopeless expression. "Do I need anything?" He laughs bitterly. "How about a new life, Karen? Could you find me one of those somewhere? Seems like the one I've got isn't really my own."

Karen's taken aback by his rancorous words, "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Sorry. Not your fault. I didn't mean to take it out on you. Especially since it appears that you and the General are the only two people in this whole damn world who actually care for me."

Shocked, she starts to reply, "Chuck! How could you think such—"

Coming from the open door, Beckman's voice cuts her off. "Nurse Green, I believe that's enough for now. Could you please leave us?"

The nurse wants to say more, but recognizes the authority in the General's tone of voice. "Yes, Ma'am."

Turning to Chuck, Karen says, "I'll be back to check on you later."

Beckman speaks once again, "Thank you, Nurse, but I believe it would be good for you to take some time off. You worked very hard in caring for Agent Carmichael, and I think you deserve a break. Thank you for your service. I'll ask one of the other nurses to check on him later."

"But I really don't mind, General. I'm quite willing to stay."

"That's very kind of you, but I must insist. We'll see you the day after tomorrow."

Karen knows a dismissal when she hears one. "Yes, Ma'am." Again turning to Chuck, she quietly says, "Take care of yourself, Chuck. I'll see you in a day or so."

He suddenly stands and, taking the nurse into his embrace, quietly replies, "Thank you, Karen. I can honestly say you're the best person I know. Take care."

She's puzzled by that, but knows this isn't the time and place, what with the impatient General standing only a few feet away. And, as she walks past Beckman, Karen catches the quickly concealed scowl that passes over the older woman's face.

 _What the hell is going on? Why does she want me out of here?_

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: Confused yet? I'll admit that there have been numerous times in the past while where I've had to stop myself, thinking what I just wrote doesn't make any sense (No comments from the peanut gallery). But then I realized that in the arc I'm writing it actually does make sense._ _Please tell what you think._

 _PS Anyone figured out 'Summer Crest' yet?_


	6. Chapter 4 Carmichael

A/N:As always, thanks to all you nice people who are following this story. And a special thanks to all who've taken the time to review. They're always appreciated (hint, hint).

Speaking of arcs, I'm sensing that there may a some level of confusion with the double story lines. (If that's happened to you, don't feel bad. Heck, I'm confused at times and I wrote the darn thing!). If you are a little puzzled, please go back to Chapter 3 Carmichael and read the A/N at the beginning.

Thanks as always to my beta, Micahelfmx. His input has been invaluable.

Don't own Chuck, etc.

Enjoy!

—

" _So we packed up our lives, and headed to Burbank, where we set up and then proceeded to live in the world of Charles Irving Bartowski."_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 4 Carmichael**

"It couldn't have been as easy as that!"

Eric replies, "No, Chuck. Of course, it wasn't really easy at all. There was a huge amount of work to do. So, until we were ready to drop all of us into that life, it was necessary for you to remain in an unconscious state."

"You drugged me, in other words."

"Yes, I'm afraid so. There really wasn't any alternative. Everything needed to be ready before we could let you wake up," says Rachel.

"How long?"

She looks at him, a little apologetically. "Seventeen days."

"Seventeen! Wait! I must have been on a feeding tube if it was that long!" He shudders at the thought.

Noticing Chuck's reaction, Rachel says, "Yes. And I think it might be best if we don't discuss the other stuff we had to do during that time."

He nods emphatically. "Yeah, I totally agree. By the way, just how much of the last three years have I spent being unconscious, aside from sleeping?"

Rachel and Eric look at each other, thinking.

"Well, there were the first two days after the download and the seventeen we just mentioned."

"And the night when you 'downloaded' the Intersect from Bryce's e-mail." She stops. "I assume Beckman told you that wasn't what really happened?"

Chuck nods. "Since it didn't, why was I unconscious?"

Eric replies, "We had to tranq you in order to make it fit the description of the event, as recorded in your monologue."

Chuck's immediate response is anger, but upon realizing it was, in a sense, his own doing, grins wryly. "Gee, thanks, guys."

Eric grins. "Then, of course, there was that mission in Disneyland where the bad guy was chasing you through 'It's A Small World'. A couple of hours that time, if I recall."

Rachel jumps in. "Oh! And the time she had to knock you out in order to fool that arms dealer into believing that you meant nothing to her."

Chuck interjects, caught up in the spirit of the conversation. "Yes. I remember. And that time I was trapped in that vacuum chamber, and passed out just before Sarah managed to rescue me."

 _Through the glass partition that separates them, he sees her frantically working the controls, trying to restore the atmosphere into the chamber he finds himself trapped in. The air is so thin that he can barely hear her calm voice over the intercom as she reassures him again and again, "I'm here, Chuck. Just hang on. It'll be OK." He just smiles weakly, nodding his head, for she's never let him down before, so he has no reason to doubt. But just before he passes out, he sees the look of poorly concealed terror in her eyes. And this is the image that sticks with him._

He's brought back to the present by the look that Rachel and Eric give each other, seemingly having another one of their silent conversations.

It irks him, to the point where his good humor of just a moment ago disappears. "You know what? You two need to stop doing that. If there's some sort of problem, I think I deserve to know what's going on, don't you?"

Eric mumbles, "Sorry, Chuck."

"You're right, Chuck. We're just concerned about throwing too much at you," says Rachel.

A little mollified, he asks, "OK. So what is it?"

Rachel pauses for a second before replying, "Chuck, we have no reason to believe that incident in the vacuum chamber ever occurred."

"What? But I remember it so clearly!"

Eric picks up the conversation, "But you also remember me being a cardiac surgeon."

Chuck suddenly feels a little sheepish. "Oh! Of course, you're right."

He looks back and forth between the two of them. "So what do you think that means?"

Rachel replies, "I think the answer might be found in the month or so that immediately preceded you being brought back to this hospital. It's time you knew what happened, and why we had to travel here from Burbank."

Eric asks, "How much do you remember of the last few weeks?"

Chuck shakes his head. "No, as I told Beckman, it's all quite fuzzy. Something to do with the Intersect, but exactly what, I can't recall."

Both doctors nod, as Eric replies, "That's not surprising, Chuck. The last while has been an extraordinarily difficult time, for all of us, but especially for you. And her."

"Why? What happened?"

Rachel answers, "Basically, the Intersect began to malfunction, or, perhaps more accurately, your mind started to deteriorate. You began to lose the ability to control the Intersect while simultaneously maintaining the whole Chuck Bartowski cover."

Her companion elaborates, "Chuck, we started to notice little things at first. The headaches you often got after flashing became more intense, and they lasted longer than before. We put it down to fatigue at first, too many missions in too short a time. We informed Beckman and you were given a respite, a week or so, and it seemed to help. At first."

"But then other things started to happen," says Rachel. "You began to have bouts of confusion, sometimes for just a moment or two, sometimes longer. One time you'd come home after work to get ready for a mission, but instead of coming in, I found you in the courtyard, sitting by the fountain. You looked perplexed, so I asked you what was wrong. You told me you couldn't remember which apartment you lived in. You thought it was 924, but there wasn't any number like that here. The next moment you were back to normal, telling me you had to get ready for your 'date', not realizing, of course, I knew what was going on."

Eric continues, "Stuff like that started to happen more often. And your flashes started to become less and less reliable, more than once leading the team to a complete dead end. There was even one occasion where a flash put the team in danger, so—"

Chuck cuts him off, alarmed. "Was anyone hurt?"

"No, don't worry about that. Bullets flew, but all of you got away unscathed. But we could see that things were rapidly going downhill. It eventually progressed to the point where you began to find it difficult to sort out what was real from what wasn't."

"What? How?"

Rachel replies, "Chuck, we checked into some of your ramblings and realized you were drawing on incidents recorded in the many and various debriefing files contained in the Intersect. You began to believe that some of these incidents, in whole or in part, had actually happened to you or members of our team. It was easy to see that, if this went on for too much longer, there wouldn't be anything left of Chuck Bartowski. We knew that he'd been the buffer between Charles Carmichael and the Intersect, and that if he was gone, overwritten, so to speak, by all this other information, it might make it impossible to ever recover your true self."

"Are you saying I was developing multiple personalities?" He panics a bit at the thought.

Eric answers, "No, it hadn't gotten to that point. But if it had actually progressed to dissociative identity disorder, you might've had hundreds, if not thousands, of different personalities competing for attention. Remember, you not only had the agents' incident reports, but also their history, their psych evaluations, almost their whole lives, bouncing around in your head. In retrospect, we realized that you holding that off for as long as you did was a bit of a miracle."

Chuck shudders as he tries to visualize what that would have been like, but, of course, it's beyond his ability to truly comprehend such a life.

"But amongst all of that, there was a gleam of hope, as well," Rachel continues.

Chuck quickly latches on to that. "What was it?"

"One morning at breakfast, while Eric was on a shift, something unusual happened. We were eating when you suddenly looked straight at me and said, 'Rachel, I know you two are working hard to complete the physical abilities component of the Intersect, but I've decided we should hold off until our other issues are sorted out.' Then you went back to eating your cereal. I had to play dumb, so I asked you who Rachel was. You simply stared back at me and replied, 'What are you talking about? I don't know a Rachel.'"

Chuck's puzzled. "How would that be a good thing? It just sounds like I was confused again."

"No, Chuck. This was different. It wasn't confusion or something you found in the Intersect. You'd said those exact words to me while we'd been working on Project Omaha. In fact, not long before we did our first volunteer download."

"So you think that in some way or another, this was Charles Carmichael speaking?" Chuck asks.

"Yes, we thought it very likely. You see, we hadn't heard anything of him for three years, so even this little incident was very encouraging."

"In what way?"

Eric answers, "Right from the beginning, we'd been working on the premise that Charles would likely resurface if we could somehow get rid of the Intersect. But as time went by without us finding a way to do so, our hope began to wane. Perhaps too much time had passed, and he was gone for good."

Chuck is suddenly excited. "So what I said gave you hope."

Rachel nods. "Yes. But our problem remained. We finally had a basic removal procedure in place, one we believed would work, but it still needed refining. Unfortunately, we ran out of time, so we had to go with what we had. Your condition had deteriorated to the point that we couldn't wait any longer."

"So you brought me here."

"Yes, but to do so, we had to fool you into thinking you were being brought here for a routine upgrade."

"Why did you have to do that?"

"Because, towards the end, you'd become suspicious of all of us. Thought we were out to get you."

His dubious laugh is cut off by her serious expression. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"It sounds like you're saying I was paranoid or something."

"In some ways, yes, you were, but in others, not."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, you did show classic symptoms. You believed that we were involved in a conspiracy to take away what made you special, superior to the rest of us. Of course, in that, you weren't actually being paranoid. We did want to get rid of the Intersect, but only for you own good. But you thought it was because everyone was jealous of you, that we wanted take it away from you so we could have it for ourselves. So you began to see plots behind every little incident, every little coincidence. It all came to a head after the mission we just mentioned, the one where your faulty flash led the three of you into a trap. You accused her of deliberately blowing the op, just to make you look bad. You were furious, called her all sorts of mean, horrible things. And then you refused to speak with her or be in the same room with her. That was only two days before you were brought here, and it was only at Beckman's specific order that you would even deign to be on the same plane as her. You didn't say a word to her the whole trip."

Chuck, just sits there, stunned, finding it almost impossible to believe that he'd been so viciously unkind to them all, but especially to Sarah.

It hadn't taken long for him to recognize just how emotional she truly was, despite how effectively she would hide behind that poker-face of hers. He'd seen through it, had seen how she'd been hurt by his occasional lapses into idiotic, unkind behaviour.

Fortunately, on those occasions, he'd recognized his stupidity, had implored for her forgiveness and had made an honest effort to avoid repeating the same mistakes.

But not in this case. He remembers none of it, literally has to imagine what had happened based solely on Rachel's words. Has to imagine how she must have felt at being the recipient of such undeserved cruelty.

Looking into her eyes, he quietly asks, "Rachel, did I ever apologize?"

She shakes her head. "As soon as we got here, you were put through the procedure, so you never had a chance."

Hanging his head, he says, "Rachel, Eric, I'm so sorry that I put you guys through all that. I must have hurt you all."

Rachel pats his hand. "Hey, try not to worry about it. Yes, it was difficult, but we all knew it really wasn't your fault. None of us hold it against you."

"Even Sarah? It sounds like I treated her worst of all."

Rachel's quiet for a second. "Yes, Chuck, you did. And you really did hurt her. Worse than she'd ever been hurt before. But, like the rest of us, she came to understand that wasn't really you, so put it behind her."

"How do you know?"

"She told me as much, Chuck. So, like I said, try not to worry about it. I doubt very much that she expects, or even wants, you to bring it up with her."

Rachel's reassurances comfort him, but deep down he can't help but wonder if he's seriously damaged his relationship with the woman he persists in thinking of as Sarah. A name, Chuck notices, that everyone else has pretty much refrained from using. He supposes that's only natural, given that they know the real person and want to give her the opportunity to be the one who informs Chuck of the truth.

The thought that, by this time tomorrow, he'll know more about that real her suddenly scares him. Rachel had said that their fake personalities were much like who they actually were. But what if the differences are such that it's enough to change how he feels about her? Or perhaps much more likely, how she feels about him? What if the deep attachment that he thought existed in fact, never did?

 _Stop. This will get you nowhere. Be patient and you'll know. Soon. One way or the other._

He drags himself back to the task at hand, gives both of his friends a grateful smile. "Thank you for being so forgiving. So, back to what we were taking about. I was brought here and you performed the procedure, which then put me into a coma."

"Yes."

Dryly, he says, "I gather that was an unforeseen side effect."

Both doctors nod.

"So, ideally, what should've been the result?"

Rachel replies, "Ideally? Once the Intersect was removed, the need for the Chuck Bartowski persona would be gone, and Charles Carmichael would re-emerge."

"So what do you think went wrong?"

Eric answers this time. "We strongly suspect that the procedure was unable to completely remove the Intersect."

"Why would you think that? I haven't flashed since I woke up, even though there's been lots of times I should've."

"Well, the fact that you woke up still believing that you're Chuck Bartowski was the main clue. He's basically a creation of the Intersect, so if it was completely gone, we believed that he, and his memories, would disappear as well. When you unexpectedly fell into a coma, we'd hoped that this may have been your way of rebooting, so to speak. That when you woke up, it would be as Carmichael, not Bartowski."

Abruptly, Chuck's frustration boils over, his tone of voice abruptly sarcastic. "Well, it's pretty obvious that didn't happen, isn't it? So where the hell does that leave me? Who am I, really? I wake up believing I'm Chuck Bartowski, but then you guys tell me I'm actually Charles Carmichael. I remember these isolated incidents which seem to back up your words, and so I do my best to accept what you say is true. That I'm someone I really don't remember. That somehow it'll all work out. But then you keep using phrases like you hope, you think, you suspect, you believe. You're not exactly inspiring confidence in me. So I ask again, who am I?"

Rachel replies, "Chuck, I can only try to imagine what you're going through. I know we often sound vague, but that's almost impossible to avoid. The truth is that the human mind is an incredibly complex thing, and we simply can't know everything that's going on in yours. So, to answer your question, we really don't know. You've had some flashes of Charles' memories and that's encouraging. We expect that they will continue as you're gradually introduced back into his world. Eventually, if those memory flashes continue to occur, he may make it all the way back."

He nods, "OK. I understand what you're saying. However, I hear a 'but' coming."

She nods in turn. "But the problem is that you still remember Chuck as well. Both the legend you created and the subsequent events in Burbank. How, and if, you'll be able to mesh the two together is anyone's guess at this point."

"And to top it all off," Eric adds, "you'll also have to deal with events that you believe you've experienced, but never actually did."

"So let me make sure I'm clear on this. You're saying that, at the moment, I'm basically an amalgam of Carmichael and Bartowski topped off with a layer of false memories. Does that about sum it up?"

"Yes. Stripped of all the medical jargon, that's a pretty good way of putting it."

"So let me ask you this. How can I be sure that the memories I have of Beckman and the two of you aren't just delusions as well? What if I really am Chuck Bartowski, and all of you are, for some reason, putting on this act to try and convince me that I'm this Charles Carmichael character instead?"

Both doctors appear momentarily stunned, their mouths agape.

"What?! I don't..."

"I'm not sure..."

Neither, for the moment, appear to be capable of a complete sentence.

Eric is the first to recover. "You know, I never thought of that possibility. I can't really imagine what kind of person would try to pull off a convoluted scheme like that."

Rachel shakes his head. "And I have literally no idea how we could disprove it...Oh, hold on, I think I do have a way. Chuck Bartowski believed he had a sister and that I was she. But now you know that I'm not her, so that should prove you really aren't him."

"How do I know that you really aren't my sister, and that for reasons I can't figure out, you decided to lie to me about our relationship?"

If he'd thought they were nonplussed a few moments ago, that was nothing compared to the utterly bewildered looks they are giving him right now.

She sounds a little panicky. "Chuck, you don't really believe something like that is going here, do you?"

He looks back and forth between the two of them, is tempted, for a second or two, to string them along a little more, but in the end decides agains it.

Chuck shakes his head. "No. No, I don't. The truth is that I needed to see your reactions. It was easy to see you were both completely dumbfounded, that the possibility of such a thing had never occurred to you. If it had been your scheme, you would have planned for something out of left field like that, would have been prepared to answer." He pauses, as he gives them both a long look. "But, more importantly, I believe, in here," he taps his chest over his heart, "that both of you do really care for me. That while we don't have the connection I thought we had, I truly believe there's still this bond between us. So, no. But it would have been an interesting situation, wouldn't it?" He grins.

Rachael, obviously relieved, answers, "Yes. It certainly would have been."

"So where do we go from here? What's the prognosis?"

"Chuck, your situation is well out of the ordinary. It's not amnesia in the classic sense, but more of a displacement, if you will, of Charles Carmichael by Chuck Bartowski. It's quite likely that all the memories are still there. So, as I mentioned, it appears that the best thing for you right now is for us to continue to gradually expose you to the people and places in Charles Carmichael life. Additionally, we need to continue to fill you in as to what happened between then and now. Does that sound good to you?"

"Yeah, it does." He pauses. "Rachel, do you think there's any way for you to expedite the process by using some of the Intersect technology?"

Chuck is taken back by her sudden vehemence. "No! There's no way you're _ever_ going near that damned thing again!"

"But—"

"No buts, Chuck. If we ever get even the slightest idea you that you're contemplating that idea, you'll be tranqued so fast your head will spin. Literally. I'll do it myself if I have to. Then we'll lock you up someplace until you come to your senses. Do you understand?"

"But—"

"I said no buts! You're never going to let that thing in again. In any way, shape or form. We almost lost you twice. We're not gonna even _chance_ that happening a third time. Do you understand?" Her countenance is fierce, her tone of voice even more so.

Chuck looks helplessly to Eric for some support. "I just thought we could maybe download some of Carmichael's personal files."

Eric shakes his head, quite emphatically. "No, Chuck. I'm totally with her on this one. All of us feel the same way. So I advise you to just shut up and agree."

Chuck looks back to her, sees she's still fuming, waiting for his answer.

Gulping, he meekly says, "Yes, Ellie." He immediately claps his hand over this mouth, embarrassed by his gaffe.

Rachel chuckles. "Hey, don't sweat it. You've been calling me that for the last three years, so you're bound to slip up once in a while. It's safe to say that all of us expect that sort of thing will happen from time to time. No one will take offense."

"Thanks."

"By the way, has anyone suggested anything about downloading it again?"

Chuck shakes his head. "Nope, not even a hint."

"There better not be. If anyone does, tell us right away. We have someone on hand who would be quite eager to forcefully disabuse them of any such notion."

Chuck chuckles.

Rachel replies, "You laugh, but I'm totally serious. If I'd suggested that idea, even just in passing, and I heard she was looking for me, I'd, first of all, find the nearest closet to hide in. Then I'd call in sick or use some of that vacation time I've been accumulating."

Chuck shakes his head, "No, Rachel, I laughed because I do believe it. I just imagined some clueless lab tech on the receiving end of her anger. Sarah can be a holy terror when she puts her mind to it."

"Yeah, she can. Especially when it comes to protecting you," Eric says.

Chuck nods, his mind flooded with so many memories.

 _God, I miss her. So much._ But even as he says the words in his mind, his earlier apprehensions come back to mind. Whom does he actually miss? The real Sarah, whomever that may be, or is it some sort of fantasy woman he's made up?"

He finds himself torn, unsure of what he really wants. But, in the end, his aching need for her overpowers his fears, so he quietly, almost timidly asks, "Rachel, when am I going to see her?"

The woman looks at him, sympathy in her eyes. "Chuck, I know you miss her. But before she can come to see you, there's some…personal issues she has to deal with. These past three years have taken a toll on each one of us. But her load was, in many ways, the hardest one to bear."

"That's the impression I keep getting, but why? Why her most of all?"

Rachel shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Chuck, but I can't tell you. That's her prerogative."

He tries to push down his frustration, tries to be reasonable. "Alright, I got it. But when?"

"Maybe tomorrow. It's up to her."

Last night, he'd lost sleep, wondering if he'd ever see her again. The thought of her being reassigned somewhere (if it had come to that), had, in an odd way, comforted him, for it allowed him to hug to himself the hope that she really still wanted to be here, but simply had no choice in the matter.

This voluntary absence is another thing, however. It frightens him, realizing she's choosing to stay away. What kind of issues does she need to deal with? Beckman's words come back to him. While she had been vague on the details, she did say his team had made many sacrifices. Just what did _she_ have to sacrifice, at least temporarily, in order to be with him in Burbank? Family? Friends?

Then it hits him like a punch to the gut. _What if she's married?_ It would explain so much. Her persistent equivocation about any sort of real future with him. Her constant hesitancy to express her feelings.

 _Get ahold of yourself. You're letting your imagination run away with you. Sarah's not the kind of person who would cheat on her husband. She never would've allowed that morning in Barstow to happen if she was married._

The thought comforts him. However, it's only for a moment, because a little voice in his head says, _"But what if Barstow never really happened?"_

If the memory of Barstow is, in fact, simply a delusion, it means she wasn't a cheater, which is good. However, it does nothing to answer the question of her being married or not, which is bad. And, perhaps even worse, if that incident never actually happened, (like the one in the vacuum chamber) how many more cherished memories of her are delusions as well?

But, on the other hand, if Barstow did happen the way he remembers, it could mean that Sarah was, for all intents and purposes, an adulterer, and that he'd been the man who'd pushed her into betraying her husband. The thought of that makes him feel ill. And even though he knows it's blatantly hypocritical on his part, he can't push away the thought that he would find it difficult to truly care for someone who would cheat on their spouse.

No, there can only be one scenario. Not only did Barstow take place, but she was also free to be with him that morning.

 _I have to know._

Turning to Rachel he pleads, "Rachel, I need to know if there was an incident in Barstow? A time when she and I were on the run."

She looks at him for a few moments before replying, "Yes, Chuck, there was. You didn't give us the details, just that you'd spent the night together."

His relief is tempered by the fact that the critical question still lies unanswered.

The thought of what answer he might get makes him hesitate, but he knows the question must be asked. "Rachel, is there someone else in her life?"

An unreadable expression, visible for only a fraction of a second, passes over her face. "Chuck, I told you that I can't answer those types of questions, so, please, don't ask them again. You'll have to wait until you speak with her."

The firmness in her tone convinces him that she's unlikely to back down, so he drops it, but the nagging doubt still sticks in his mind. He hangs his head in defeat, and as he does so, he notices, for the first time, the wedding band on Rachel's ring finger. Glancing Eric's way, he sees the same.

And, once again, Chuck is reminded the world doesn't revolve around him alone.

 _Just how selfish are you? These two good people have given up years of their lives, and who knows what else, for you and all you do is whine and complain about your lot._

"Rachel, Eric, thank you so much for being such good friends. I don't think I've told you how grateful I am that you two have been there for me, both before and after."

"You would've done the same for us."

"Hey, that's what friends do."

Chuck replies, "Thank you, but please don't minimize what you've done for me. Beckman mentioned that you've all of you had to make significant sacrifices for this assignment. I just wanted to say how truly sorry I am that it took you away from those you love. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been, living under the same roof, pretending to be in love with each other, even having to go through a fake wedding. All the while knowing you had actual spouses waiting for you to come back to them."

Rachel's puzzled, "What do you mean, Chuck?"

"The rings on your fingers. Since the assignment's over, there wouldn't be any further need to wear them unless you were actually married. I feel bad for your spouses having to be away from you for so long. That kind of separation would put an incredible strain on a marriage. I just hoped both of yours survived."

Chuck sees a look of comprehension dawn on both their faces.

Then Eric replies, "It's OK, Chuck. Fortunately, neither of us had to worry about that."

It's Chuck's turn to be puzzled. "I don't understand. Why not?"

"Because there was no separation. We saw each other every day."

"I'm confused. Are you saying that your spouses were nearby the whole time? That you'd grab a few hours together when you could?"

"No, Chuck we lived together under the same roof."

"That's not possible unless you two…" He stops speaking, his mind whirling.

Rachel reaches over, takes Eric's hand. Then, smiling a little shyly, she says, "Chuck, the wedding wasn't fake, Chuck. At least not entirely. And we never had to pretend to love each other."

Chuck looks back and forth between them, mouth agape. Incredulously he says, "You guys are really married?"

They both nod, happy grins on both of their faces.

Still gaping, Chuck says, "How? When?"

Rachel continues, "We met when we were brought in for Project Omaha. We became close friends, but it took quite some time before it progressed into a romantic relationship. We got engaged just a few months before everything happened to you. So when we understood we were going to be portraying an almost engaged couple, it wasn't difficult for us to be convincing."

"But at the wedding you were married under false names, as Ellie and Devon. It wouldn't be legal!"

"As far as the legal part goes, we'd nipped out the day before and got married in a private civil ceremony, where I kept my real last name. But the wedding, for all intents and purposes, was real. The sentiments were real, the happiness was real. The actual ceremony was the only fake part."

Chuck tries to blink back his happy tears, but fails miserably. "Well, at least one good thing has come out of this whole crappy situation. I'm so happy for the two of you."

Then he stops. "When were you planning on telling me this?"

"Soon, Chuck, soon. We wanted to keep the focus to be on you for now. On how we could help you get through all of this."

He nods. "Wait. Did I congratulate you when you actually got engaged?"

"Yes, Chuck, of course, you did. And you threw a beautiful party for us at your house."

He's surprised. "I own a house?"

"Yes. In fact, no too far from here. A nice three bedroom place with a big backyard."

"Why would I need such a big place?"

Eric answers, a little enigmatically. "You had your reasons."

Chuck, recognizing this as just another of the things he'll have to sort out later, doesn't push. Instead, he just says, "Well, I hope someone's been cutting the grass."

"Don't worry. It's all been taken care of. We'll go and see it later."

Chuck ponders for a moment. "Rachel, you'd mentioned earlier that the histories I sorta made up for you were similar in many ways to your real lives. I guess this was a case in point."

"Yes, that had occurred to us. Setting things up that way certainly made it easier for us. Having to pretend to love someone else would have been very uncomfortable."

Chuck can't help but wonder if Sarah had cause to feel that discomfort. If so, it seemed she'd somehow gotten past it.

It's all so tiring, this battle with his own memories, not knowing which of them to trust.

And with that thought, he yawns, shaking his head a little.

Rachel leans in a little closer, asks quietly, "How're you holding up, Chuck? You want to take a break? You hungry?"

"Yeah, I am, a little." He glances to his wrist, forgetting for a moment he's not wearing a watch.

"What time is it?"

Rachel turns her wrist to show him the time.

"It's a little late for lunch and too early for dinner, but I think I could eat. How about you guys?"

Rachel nods as Eric says, "Sounds good, we skipped lunch today."

Chuck looks around his room. "Should we eat in here?"

Rachel shakes her head. "No, it would be good if we got you out of the room for a while. The hospital has a beautiful rooftop garden and it's a nice day. I'll go and talk to the nurse and see what we can scrounge up and then we'll have it up there."

She stands, and walking to the door, opens it. As she starts to close it behind her, Eric bellows in his deep voice, "Babe, could you see if they could whip up some cheeseburgers?"

Stopping, she turns her head. "I'll do my best." Just before the door latches, they hear Rachel say, "Nurse Green, as you've likely already heard, we'd like—"

Chuck, smirking a little, looks to the man across the table from him. "Probably no soy in those burgers, Eric. Will that be OK? Course, I really don't know if you really liked all that health food stuff, or I just made it up as part of your persona."

Grinning, Eric replies, "It _was_ part of my persona. Never did figure out why you added that in. Hated it to begin with, but acquired a taste for it after a while."

Chuck shudders at the memory of the foul-smelling, foul-tasting drinks the man had so often tried to foist on him. What on earth possessed him to put that into Eric's history? And, of course, this has to be something he didn't forget as much as would like to have done so.

Just then, Rachel re-enters the room. "OK, guys we're good to go. It's a little chilly outside, but they're going to turn on the patio heaters for us."

The two men stand, and, following her, go through the doorway. It's the first time Chuck's been out of the confines of his room, so he's curious. There's a burly looking guard sitting in a chair beside the door of his room. The man stands as they exit, nodding as they pass by. As they walk down the hallway, Chuck notices the guard follows at a discreet distance.

Rounding a corner, he sees Karen walking towards their group.

She stops in front of them. Smiling, she says, "Hey, Chuck. You're looking better than you did a few hours ago."

"Hi, Karen. I feel better, too. A little help from my friends goes a long way."

"I'm glad to hear that. And as the saying goes, any friend of Chuck's is a friend of mine."

Turning to Rachel she says, "Dr. Kellner. Everything's good to go. We'll bring four cheeseburger meals up to the roof in about fifteen minutes or so."

"Thank you, Karen. I know we were only formally introduced a couple of hours ago, but I would like you to call me Rachel. And my husband is Eric."

Karen grins. "Certainly, Rachel." She nods to the sandy haired man. "Eric."

He replies. "Thank you, Karen. You've done a great job with Chuck."

"Well, he made it pretty easy."

"Still, both Eric and I appreciate your hard work," says Rachel.

She nods. "Thank you. It's been a pleasure. You know how to get to the rooftop garden?"

Eric replies, "Yeah, we've spent a fair amount of time there the last few days."

"OK. I'll see you in a bit with the food."

With a wave, she walks off, presumably in the direction of the kitchen.

They're in the elevator, on their way up, before it dawns on Chuck.

"Karen said she's bringing up four meals. Is someone else joining us?"

"Yep," answers Eric.

"Who?"

"It's a surprise."

Before he can ask, the doors of the elevator open.

And there, not five feet away, grinning like a madman, stands a beardless Morgan Grimes.

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: Perhaps not the person you were hoping to show up. But, trust me, she will. She will._


	7. Chapter 4 Bartowski

A/N:As always, thanks to all you nice people who've following this story. It's very encouraging to see that you seem to like this increasingly convoluted tale.

If you've been waiting for some of our favorite characters to make an reappearance, you going to like this chapter of the Bartowski arc.

Wouldn't be here without my beta Micahelfmx. Thank you, thank you thank you.

Don't own Chuck, etc.

Enjoy!

—

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 4 Bartowski**

As Karen Green walks out of the hospital for the first time in three days, she's struck by the coolness of the night air. It seems that their late Indian summer is over. As she hugs her sweater closer, she's reminded that winter is just around the corner.

Ever since Chuck had awoken, she's been sleeping at the hospital and spending her waking hours watching over him. But now she's been given leave to spend a day at her own place. A chance to take care of some needed things and sleep in her own bed for a change.

Chuck's words still puzzle her. How could he believe that she and Beckman are the only two people who care for him? He'd spoken so fondly of Sarah and how close they were. It was so obvious how he felt about her and, from what Karen had seen, it was clear the woman felt the same about Chuck. And the same for his other visitors as well. So how come he suddenly felt so alone in the world?

She catches herself, wondering if by following Beckman's orders to not reveal he'd had those specific visitors, she may have contributed to the problem. She can't see how, though. He must surely remember them and how much they care for him!

She wished she'd had another minute to reassure Chuck of that, but, of course, the General had entered the room just at that moment. Karen still can't figure out why Beckman was so eager to get rid of her.

She gets into her red Toyota Prius, and, while driving toward the exit, finds herself distracted by the odd events surrounding the young man given into her care. To such an extent, that when she reaches the security gate, she doesn't have her pass ready.

"Hi, Karen. Your pass please."

"Sorry, George. It's in here somewhere." She fumbles around in her purse, annoyed when she can't find it. She looks back at the guard.

"We've known each other for two years, George. Surely, you can let me through."

He shakes his head. "Sorry, Karen. You know I normally would, but they've really tightened security in the last few days. I'll need to be able to say that I saw it before I can open the gate."

She nods. "Yeah, I understand. It's the same inside." She looks again. "Ah! Here it is." She hands it over and watches the man casually glance at it before handing it back to her.

"OK, you're good. Oh, by the way, I've been instructed to take a week off with pay. In fact, I've heard all the regular security personnel have been asked to do the same. They'll have an all new crew in for the next week. They'll start at midnight tonight."

"Why would they do that, George?"

He shrugs. "Haven't the foggiest. But it'll be nice to have the time off."

He raises the gate.

"See you in a week."

"Goodnight, George. Have a nice break."

"Thanks. Night, Karen."

…

Fifteen minutes later, Karen pulls into the driveway of her modest rancher on the outskirts of Alexandria. She remains in the car for a few minutes, ruminating over the unusual events of the past few days. She can't make heads or tails of the whole thing and, frustratingly, it appears that no one is going to make her the wiser.

 _Oh well, it's not the first time and likely won't be the last._

After exiting the car and setting the alarm, she walks toward her front door. But before she's taken more than a couple of steps, she's startled by a figure that steps out of the shadows to her right. For a moment she panics, afraid, her heart pounding.

"You…I recognize you." Karen fights to get her breath back.

"I'm sorry to frighten you, Nurse Green."

"You're the woman who visited Chuck every evening."

"Yes. And I thank you for taking such good care of him."

"I haven't seen you for a while. How come?"

"That's part of why I'm here tonight. You see, we have a problem, my friends and I, and we require your help." She gestures to the house behind her. "May we go inside? We need to talk.

"However, first of all, I believe introductions are in order." The woman steps closer, offers her hand.

Karen takes it, is surprised by the firm grip.

"My name is Sarah Walker."

…

Karen closes the front door behind her and, upon turning on the lights, is startled once again when she sees a man sitting in one of her armchairs.

She jumps but before she can make a sound, Sarah says, "Don't worry, he's with me."

The man stands and Karen realizes that it's "Military Guy".

Sarah asks him, "All clear, Casey?"

The man nods. "No bugs, no cameras."

"Good. Nurse Green, I'd like you to officially meet Casey. One of those friends I spoke of."

The big man steps closer and, like Sarah had done, offers his hand. Karen's own is virtually lost in the man's large one. She senses that he refrains from exerting too much force in his grip.

For some reason, she finds herself a little flustered as she says, "Please call me Karen."

The man looks at her appraisingly. "OK, Karen. You can call me John."

Turning to Sarah, he says, "The others will be here in a few minutes. I'll wait outside until you call."

"Thank you, Casey."

The man leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

The nurse turns to the woman beside her. "Now, can you please tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Yes. I imagine you're a little confused at this point." She gestures to the couch. "Can we sit? I'll try to clear things up a bit."

They both sit, turning to face each other.

The younger woman speaks first. It's not difficult for Karen to detect the anxiety in her eyes, hear it in her voice and see it in the rigidity of her posture.

"But, before I continue, I need to know if Chuck's OK? He's awake? Lucid?"

"Yes. He appears to be just fine. He woke up three days ago and he's been undergoing tests for the last two. I didn't hear of any issues, and, In fact, just this morning they disconnected all the monitoring equipment. He's a little weak, but he's up and about. He had a substantial breakfast this morning."

It's easy to see her relief. She smiles a little as she asks, "Pancakes?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"It's just him. Thank you, Karen. I've been worried."

"I could tell, Sarah."

"You didn't seem surprised when I told you my name."

Karen shakes her head. "No, I wasn't. Chuck had spoken of a Sarah and, based on what I saw of you, it wasn't difficult to put two and two together."

The nurse sees the woman's expression soften as she asks, "Would you mind telling me what he said about me?"

Karen hesitates for a moment, unsure whether she's breaking some rule of confidentiality, but the pleading she sees in Sarah's expression tips the balance.

"Well, he described you, in glowing terms I might add, and then told me how close you and he are. But he also said that the two of you couldn't seem to make that final connection, that things were much more complicated than he felt they should be."

Sarah's face falls a bit at this, and the nurse can't help but feel she's touched a nerve of some sort.

Her voice is quiet. "Yeah. That sounds like Chuck."

Karen waits a few seconds before she asks, "Could you tell me what kind of relationship you and Casey have with him?"

When Sarah doesn't answer immediately, Karen's frustration boils over. Exasperated, she stands, arms folded in front of her chest. "Look, you ask for my help after practically ambushing me in my own home and scaring the crap out of me. And now you won't tell me what's going on? Don't you think I have the right to informed consent? I have to have some sort of idea of what I'm getting into before I can make any sort of decision."

"I'm sorry, Karen. You're right. Please sit and I'll tell you as much as I can." Karen complies, waiting for Sarah to elaborate, which she does after a few seconds. "To make a long story short, Chuck has a unique ability to retain large amounts of data and extract actionable intel from it. Three years ago, when he first acquired that ability, Casey and I became his protectors and teammates. We've been working together ever since. I'm with the CIA and Casey is NSA."

"I figured you two were agents of some sort. I assume Chuck was one as well?"

Sarah looks uncomfortable. "No, he was an asset."

"So that meant one of you was his hand…" Karen stops and stares, her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god, you fell in love with your asset!" Even as far removed as she is from field work, the nurse knows this is a definite no-no.

Sarah squirms in her seat a little, seems about to protest, but instead says, "How did you figure it out?"

Karen takes pity on her. "Sarah, it was clear the very first time you came to visit him. Let's just say you couldn't have been any more obvious if you'd put a sign around your neck that said, 'I love Chuck.'"

Sarah gives the nurse an embarrassed little smile. "I didn't realize I was quite that transparent. I'm usually better at hiding my feelings."

"Trust me, you weren't that time. So when you told me you'd be coming by the same time the next night, I made sure I was on duty, and during your subsequent visits as well."

"I don't understand."

"That first night, when I saw you with him, I knew that I didn't want something that personal to be the subject of idle hospital gossip. You deserved some privacy."

"So no one else there knows?"

The nurse shakes her head. "No. Regs prohibit surveillance devices in patient rooms. So, the only people who know were the ones there. Just you, me and Chuck."

Karen sees the spy suddenly flush.

"What's wrong, Sarah?"

Looking down into her lap, she says, very quietly, "I…I never told him…before all this."

Karen can't hide her astonishment. "What? Not even once?"

Sarah gnaws at her bottom lip, then shakes her head. "No, not even once."

"Help me out here. Was it something you just figured out after all this happened?"

"No. I wish I could use that excuse, but the truth is that I've loved him pretty much since the day we met."

Karen just shakes her head, a little sadly. "And yet you never found the chance to tell him? Why?"

"Like Chuck said, it's complicated. You know about the regs."

"Screw the regs!"

Sarah jumps a little at the nurse's sudden vehemence. "What?"

"You heard me."

"But if they found out, they'd reassign me so fast I wouldn't even have a chance to say goodbye."

"Then you'd have to find a way around the regs."

Sarah shakes her head. "I'm not sure—"

Karen slides over and takes her hand. "Sarah, you love this man. And I'm certain you told him as much each time you visited."

She nods. "Yes."

"Then you _are_ sure. Now you just have to find the courage to tell him when he's awake."

"I know I have to, but…"

"But you're terrified that he won't be able to accept your past and the things you've had to do for the job. That's really the main reason, isn't it?"

Sarah just stares, mouth agape. "How…how did you know?"

"I've been at the bedside of more dying agents than I'd like to remember. And as I held their hand, you know what they most often told me was their biggest regret in life?"

Sarah shakes her head, a little uncertainly it seems to Karen.

"It was the god awful loneliness that came from hiding themselves, pushing away the people they did care about, afraid to let them see who they really were."

The nurse pauses. "Sarah, let me ask you a question. When your time comes, is that the last thought you want going through your mind? And if it comes to it, who do you want at your bedside, holding your hand? Some stranger you've known for a couple of days at best, or someone who's spent a lifetime loving you?"

"No. But what if he can't…maybe all he'll see is a monster."

"Yes, there's always that chance. But, in your case, I'm certain it's an infinitesimally small one."

Karen sees the hope and doubt warring in her expression. "How can you be so sure?"

"Sarah, I've seen the look in his eyes every time he speaks about you. If I'd ever, even once, seen that look in the eyes of my ex, he wouldn't _be_ my ex, if you get my drift."

The nurse smiles. "Besides, when he woke up, do you know what the first word out of his mouth was?"

The young woman shakes her head.

"Your name."

"Oh!"

"Yes, and in fact, that was the only thing he said before he fell asleep. And this after almost a week-long coma. You were obviously the first thing on his mind."

Blinking her tears away, the spy replies, "Probably because he has some totally idealistic image of me."

"Tell me, Sarah. Amongst all this data that Chuck has stuck in his head, is there stuff about you and your service record?"

She looks surprised, seemingly caught off guard by the question. She's silent, thoughtful for a few seconds before she answers, "Yes, almost certainly."

"So more than likely, Chuck already has a pretty good idea of what kind of things you've had to do. Right?"

"Yes. Most likely."

"Yet, every indication is that you're still the most important person in the world to him."

Karen sees something, a small sliver of hope, perhaps, in the young woman's expression. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely. So what are you waiting for, girl? Just tell him. Give him the chance to prove that he loves you regardless of all the crap you've gone through. You have to believe that he _can_ and _wants_ to do so."

Listening to the nurse's words, Sarah is reminded of all the times she's been encouraged, even urged, to push aside her fears and take that step. Over the past three years, pretty much everybody, Ellie, Devon, Morgan and even Casey, each in their own way, had made their feelings on the matter known. But somehow, Karen's little pep talk, coming, as it does, from an outsider, has finally crystallized matters for Sarah. No more wasted chances.

She sits up straighter, a look of determination on her face. "You're right. I have to stop being a coward."

"Sarah, I very much doubt that you're a coward. The thought of losing the love of someone we care for so deeply can make anyone apprehensive."

"Thank you, Karen." She looks at the nurse for a few seconds, then grins. "You and Chuck hit it off pretty well, didn't you?"

The nurse smiles. "Yeah, we did. He's a good man. Funny. Kind. Loyal. He misses you and your friends. Which brings me back to the question as to why you haven't visited since he came out of the coma?"

It's easy to see the spy shift gears. Her whole demeanour changes, suddenly becomes businesslike. There's no room for emotions, at least for the moment.

"Karen, that's why I'm here tonight. You see, General Beckman has rescinded our visitation privileges. None of us are allowed in the hospital at all, let alone into his room. We tried to find outwhat's going on, but we've been stonewalled at every turn.

"At first, they said it was for medical reasons. Given that Chuck's health was the top priority, we were willing to give to give them the benefit of the doubt. But later, when we pushed them for the specifics, their answers were vague, unsatisfying. So we asked again, and this time they told us it was for security reasons. Which made no sense either. Casey and I have security clearances that are only a few levels below Beckman's. We knew then that it'd all been a load of crap. But it's been a very effective delaying tactic. If the hospital had been a regular one, that kind of ploy wouldn't have worked, but it being under CIA and NSA control made it feasible.

"So, right at the moment, it seems that only way we're getting in there is by means of a full frontal assault, which we're not prepared to do. Yet. Then, to top it off, both Casey and I received reassignment orders. Going into effect," she glances at her watch, "three hours from now. I'm supposed to be on my way to Jakarta, while Casey's special skills are somehow needed in Antartica. Needless to say, neither of us are reporting in."

"What? Why would she do that?"

"It's clear that she doesn't want us around. And it's also clear that it was no coincidence that the rescinding of our visitation privileges happened the same day he woke up." Sarah pauses. "Do you know why Chuck was taken to your hospital?"

The nurse shakes her head. "No. No one has seen fit to tell me. And it's all been very frustrating."

"That ability that I mentioned earlier began to affect Chuck's mental health. About a month ago, we started to notice abnormalities in his actions and thoughts. At first, we put it down to fatigue. We'd been on a number of consecutive missions and all of us were feeling the strain. Then he started to get serious, almost debilitating headaches. But then it got even worse. He began to have trouble distinguishing between reality and what he saw in his mind. Following his usually reliable intel even got us into a dangerous situation more than once. We determined that…his ability was the problem. We realized that something had to be done. So he was taken to the hospital to have it removed, using a relatively untested procedure. But we had no choice. It was either that or he'd die, or at the very least, be severely brain-damaged."

"Did it work?"

Her frustration is clear. "We, that is, my team and I, don't really know. In fact, until you informed me, we had no confirmation that he'd even come out of his coma. We can't get to Chuck and no one is telling us anything."

"I had no idea they were withholding that information."

Sarah looks into Karen's eyes. "You said he'd been tested. I suspect this goes against patient confidentiality, but can you please tell me what kind of tests?"

Karen hesitates, but once again is swayed by the pleading she hears in the agent's voice.

"All sorts. EEGs, MRIs, CAT Scans, psych tests, the works."

"Did you happen to notice if they showed him any pictures, images, stuff like that?"

The nurse thinks for a few seconds. "Yes, once I came in to draw blood and a doctor, a shrink, if I had my guess, was just finishing showing him a stack of photos."

Sarah sits forward, her posture tense. "This is very important. Did you notice any reaction from Chuck?"

"What kind of reaction?"

"Eyes rolling. Squinting really hard. Staring off into space. Speaking in a monotone. Almost like something else was dictating his words. Anything like that?"

Karen thinks again, then shakes her head. "No, nothing that I saw. He looked a little confused, but that was about it."

Sarah sits back, smiles, nodding. "That's good. It looks like it worked. Although we can't be absolutely certain until we talk to him. But even if that's true, it doesn't mean we're out of the woods yet. It appears Beckman won't let it end there."

"What do you mean?"

"Our team has been instrumental in a battle we've been fighting against forces determined to impose their own system of government on this country. In fact, they've been largely defeated by the actions of our team. Chuck's ability has been a critical part of our success. With that in mind, Beckman was very reluctant to let him have it removed."

Sarah frowns. "This whole thing stinks of Beckman's machinations. It wouldn't surprise me at all to find out that she believes keeping us away will somehow make it possible to convince Chuck to take the whole thing on again."

Karen's shocked. "What? She'd do that, even if it meant it might kill him? I didn't think she could be that monstrous."

Scowling, Sarah replies, "You don't know Beckman as well as I do. She's single-minded in her duty to protect the citizens of this country as a whole, but doesn't really give a damn if she has to ride roughshod over individuals in order to do so."

"I had no idea. She almost sounds inhuman."

"The truth? In some ways, she's not that far off. To her, the people that carry out her orders are just disposable pieces, some admittedly with more value than others, but in the end she'll sacrifice any one of them if the need arises. And that includes Chuck."

The nurse is genuinely confused. "I just don't understand how she could be like that."

Sarah's reply surprises her. "I can."

"What do you mean? You're not like her."

"Maybe not now, but before I met Chuck, I was well down that same road."

"I find that hard to believe, Sarah."

Sarah ruefully chuckles. "I do too. Now." Her expression softens once more as she looks off into the distance. "Being around Chuck did something to me. I didn't realize it at first, but it changed me. I began to feel…whole again. Worthy of being loved."

The nurse looks at her for a few seconds, then quietly states, "And that's just one of the reasons you love him. And need him."

Sarah nods. But then her expression hardens, her eyes ablaze.

"Yes. And that's just one of the reasons why I'm not going to let that bitch take him away from me. I won't go back to what I was." There's a small hitch in her voice as she adds, "I can't."

Karen is tempted to give the woman a hug, but before she's able, Sarah abruptly stands, starts pacing. Karen can sense an almost crackling energy within her, one that doesn't allow her to remain still.

"If I find out she's hurt him, _in any way_ , she might as well ask for God's mercy because she sure as hell won't get it from me!"

"But Sarah, that would be treason!"

Sarah rounds on the nurse, her expression fierce, so much so that Karen actually shrinks back, frightened for a second. "Do you think I give a damn about that? Mark my words. If he's gone, she'll pay. Simple as that. She just better pray that she hasn't done anything stupid before we get to him!"

Cowed by the spy's incandescent rage, Karen doesn't speak, simply nods.

Sarah stops pacing, takes a few deep breaths, obviously trying to get her anger under control. "OK. OK. We need more intel. I know Chuck would never voluntarily go down that road again, so, assuming Beckman actually _is_ trying something, we need to find out what it is. Quickly."

"Is that why you've approached me?"

"Yes, Karen. We're hoping you can help us find a way to communicate with him."

"Why me, Sarah? Why did you come to me instead of one of the other nurses or doctors?"

The agent looks at her for a few moments before quietly replying, "I saw something in you when I was visiting Chuck. Something in your eyes, your expression. I'm not quite sure exactly what. I just felt that you'd be on our side. That I could trust you."

Karen's well aware that trust in the spy world is not something to be taken lightly, so finds herself moved by Sarah's declaration. But she also understands that there's a "Was I right to do so?" left unasked. The nurse, for reasons she's not quite sure of, suddenly realizes just how much she values that trust, doesn't want to do anything to jeopardize it.

This impels her to speak up. "Sarah, I don't think you need have any doubt that Beckman's trying something. In light of what you've told me, things that happened today have started to take on new meaning. For instance, she had a lengthy private discussion with him this afternoon. During it, she asked me to bring in some water, and I could see he was very upset. Later, she brought in a couple of doctors I hadn't seen before. They also had a lengthy discussion and just after they left, Chuck said something odd to me, that he needed a new life because the one he had wasn't his own. I tried to ask him what he meant, but Beckman came in just then and basically pushed me out. On top of that, on the night he awoke, she'd ordered me to not let on that you and the others had visited him. I didn't understand why, but when I asked her about it, she just told me the reasons were classified." Karen shakes her head. "I just wish I'd told him anyway. Who knows how she might have used that to mess with his head?"

"Not your fault, Karen. You couldn't be expected to know what was going on." For a moment Sarah's pensive, muses to herself. "It's interesting that would she come down here to have a private conversation with Chuck. It's totally out of character for her. And what does Chuck mean with his life not being his own?" Giving herself a little shake, she addresses the nurse once more. "Thanks for telling me. The team needs to know about what we've discussed. So, before we go any further, I think it's about time for you to meet the rest of them." Taking her phone, Sarah types out a quick text message before returning her attention to the nurse.

"They'll be here in a minute or two. Before they arrive, Karen, I need to ask outright if you're willing to help us. I wouldn't hold it against you if you said no. If we're caught, you'd likely wind up being disciplined in some way or other. Maybe fired. Or worse."

Karen sometimes wonders if's she's missed her opportunity for happiness. The crushing disappointment she'd felt over the failure of her youthful marriage had made her wary. So she'd buried herself in her work and before she knew it, twenty years had passed without any serious relationships coming her way. But, unlike some, this hasn't embittered her towards the idea that it's possible to find that one person who makes it all worthwhile. It may be too late for her, but it's plain to the nurse that Chuck and Sarah still have that chance.

So, even though the "or worse" sends a momentary chill down the nurse's spine, in truth, it has no effect on her determination to do whatever is within her power to help the two of them get their happily ever after. Yes, her resolution had been reinforced by Sarah's fiercely protective feelings for Chuck, but in reality had been fully formed the night she'd let the young woman leave his room without doing anything to assuage her grief.

So her voice is firm and unwavering when she replies, "Yes, I'll help in whatever way I can."

"Thank you." The spy looks at the older woman for a moment, as if she's assessing her. Smiling a little, she says, "You're a good person, Karen. In some ways, you remind me a lot of Chuck. No wonder the two of you got along so well."

Before the nurse can reply, there's a knock on the door. Sarah, after checking through the peephole, opens the door to let four people file into the room. Unsurprisingly, Karen recognizes them all.

She rises from her seat as Sarah speaks. "First of all, Nurse Green has informed me that Chuck is awake and appears to be just fine. It seems the procedure went well. Karen has been taking care of him since he woke up three days ago."

A sense of relief permeates the room, sudden smiles all around. Some tears as well. But then the nurse hears a muttered, "Three days ago and they didn't tell us?" and the smiles turn to angry glares, directed, Karen's certain, towards the powers that be.

"Secondly, she has agreed to help us, and I have no reason to doubt her word."

A few heads nod, acknowledging Sarah's assessment.

"I guess it's time for official introductions." Sarah turns to the nurse. "Karen, Casey you already know. This," gesturing toward the short bearded man, "is Morgan Grimes, Chuck's best friend."

He takes a step forward, offers his hand, a little shyly, which Karen takes. "It's nice to meet you, Karen. Thanks for taking care of my man."

"You're welcome."

Morgan steps back as Sarah continues, "This is Ellie Woodcomb, Chuck's sister, and her husband Devon."

Karen is totally unprepared for what happens next, as she suddenly finds herself engulfed in the close hug of the brunette doctor. It seems to be a family trait.

"Thank you so much. I know nurses, and I can tell you're one of the best. Thank you for taking care of my little brother."

A little overwhelmed, all Karen can say is, again, "You're welcome."

Ellie steps back, and Devon shakes Karen's hand, and says in a booming voice, "It's awesome to meet you, Karen. Officially, that is."

Smiling affectionately as she looks at her friends, Sarah says, "So, Karen, now you've met us all. This ragtag group is," she makes air quotes, "'Team Bartowski'. Minus, of course, Chuck."

The nurse is puzzled. "Why Bartowski? Shouldn't it be Carmichael?"

Sarah picks up on that, very quickly. "You don't know Chuck's real last name?"

Karen shakes her head. "It appears I don't. The only name I ever heard was Carmichael."

The five of them exchange looks and the nurse realizes there's a silent conversation going on, one she's not privy to.

"I wonder why he never told you," Sarah mutters.

The nurse's memory is suddenly triggered. "Sarah, Chuck told me something as I was leaving tonight. It might be relevant."

The response is rapid. "What did he say?"

"He might be having some memory issues because he told me I'm the best person he knows. He also said that the only people in the world who actually care for him, are myself and Beckman. Looking around this room, it's easy to see that neither of those statements is true."

Sarah looks at Karen, a shocked expression on her face. "He actually said that about Beckman?"

Casey grunts. "He's obviously delusional. The woman barely tolerates him at the best of times."

Morgan quips. "Hey, sort of like you at the beginning, big guy."

"Yeah, well, the moron sorta grows on you after a while." It's easy for Karen to once again see the affection that Casey had tried so hard to hide during his visits.

Sarah addresses the nurse, "Karen, would you mind telling us all what you'd said to me earlier? Your thoughts about Chuck and Beckman's interactions?"

The nurse does so, her words eliciting from the group more than a few softly muttered expletives directed the General's way. She finishes by saying, "In all fairness, though, from what little I saw of the two of them, she seemed to be treating Chuck quite kindly."

Out of the blue, Ellie nods, and almost as if she's thinking to herself, quietly says, "Yes, that might work."

All eyes turn to her.

Sarah asks, "What are you thinking, Ellie?"

The brunette doctor jumps a little, perhaps just realizing she'd spoken out loud. "An idea just came to me. If they wanted Chuck to download the Inter-"

Sarah interrupts, shaking her head. "Ellie."

"Oh! Sorry. If she wanted Chuck to…to be able to do what he did before, one way might be to make out that she's genuinely concerned for his welfare. That it would somehow be for his benefit to take it on again."

Devon interjects, "I'm not sure what you mean, babe. We all know how Chuck feels about it, so how could she possibly talk him into it?"

"It's just a hypothesis, but there would likely be some residual confusion, and, perhaps, like Karen suggested, even some recent memory loss caused by removing the…thingy. Perhaps they've reinforced that somehow, making him doubt the accuracy of his own recollections, feelings. The whole life not being his own thing seems to back that up."

Morgan's suddenly enthusiastic, gesticulating. "Maybe it's like in Total Recall where they gave Schwarzenegger a completely fake memory of who he was and he didn't even realize it. Maybe they put something like that into the program that was supposed to remove the Intersect—"

Sarah cuts him off. "Morgan!"

He blushes. "Oops! Why can't I just keep my big mouth shut?"

Casey looks over at Morgan with a scowl, making the man cringe. He then turns and, sounding quite formal, says to Karen, "Nurse Green, you never heard that word, did you? And you won't hear it again, will you? No matter how many times it's mentioned in the future, right?"

"What word?"

Casey nods, and she thinks she sees the ghost of a smile on the man's face. "Good."

Sarah turns to Ellie again. "Ok, Ellie, you were saying?"

"Morgan might be on to something. Implanting a whole new identity is well beyond our abilities at the moment, but _some_ false memories might be possible. Add that to his other probable issues and Chuck could be vulnerable to suggestion. It just might be possible to convince Chuck that he really is somebody else. Maybe the Carmichael cover that he's used quite extensively. If that's true, there's no way that Beckman would let us talk to him. She would have to do her best to make him believe that we," she gestures around the group, "don't really exist, at least not in the way he remembers us."

Ellie stops for a moment. "I helped them to design the removal program, but who's to say they didn't add something in without me knowing it?"

"If they did, it means they were planning to try something all along," Sarah growls. "The bastards."

Casey grunts, a little fiercely, and even though Karen doesn't know the man that well, she can tell that this grunt doesn't bode well for "they", whoever that might be.

Sarah wipes her palms on her jeans before looking around at her friends. "OK, we need to move up the timetable. Assuming the worst, we have to get to Chuck before they manage to con him into doing something he doesn't want to do."

Karen asks, "Sarah, couldn't they just put this thing into him against his will if they were that desperate?"

The blonde agent nods. "Yes, they probably could, but in the end, they would need Chuck's willing participation for it to actually be effective. If they forced it on him, I know he would refuse to cooperate. They might try forcing it as a last resort, though."

"Oh, I see."

Sarah continues, "We need to warn him. Karen, would you convey a message to Chuck for us? Could you please tell him that we're OK and that he shouldn't agree to any procedures until we figure out what's going on?"

"I think we can do one better than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I think I can get you into his room to speak with him yourself."

The agent is suddenly eager. "What? How would that work?"

"As I was leaving the hospital tonight, I was told by my friend George, the guy on the gate, that all the regular security personnel have been given the week off, starting at midnight tonight. They're bringing in a totally new crew, inside and out."

"Why would they do that?"

"He wasn't sure, but if I had to guess it was because they want to tighten things up. Most of the time, the regular staff and security guys are pretty casual about things."

Casey speaks up, "Yeah, I noticed that. Walker, bringing in her own guys would certainly be a sign that she's got something on the go."

Sarah nods, thoughtfully. "You're right. But that could also be to our advantage. Good thinking, Karen."

Devon jumps in, "Hold on. How would that help us? The new guys would be even more vigilant than the old crew."

Sarah smiles. "Karen, care to explain?"

The nurse smiles back. "We don't have any biometric security measures, so all they have to go by is the ID badges. And the new guys wouldn't personally know the staff."

"So?"

Karen walks over to stand by Sarah. "In case you haven't noticed, Sarah and I are about the same height." She grins, a little ruefully. "I weigh a little more, but the bulky scrubs would disguise that pretty well. Our eyes are about the same color and there's a reasonable similarity in facial features."

She looks to the agent standing beside her. "I'm not assuming you have some sort of Mission Impossible face-mask making machine hidden somewhere, but I would guess you're pretty good at changing your look for different missions?"

Sarah nods. "I am." She looks closely at the nurse's face. "No offense, but I would have to add fifteen years or so. And a few laugh lines and such."

Karen laughingly replies, "None taken. By the way, thanks for calling them laugh lines."

Sarah chuckles. "Your welcome." Suddenly thoughtful, she adds, "And I'll have to cut my hair."

Morgan pipes up, "Chuck told me he loves your hair long."

A gentle, little smile passes over Sarah's face. "I know." Then she's serious again. "But that's the least of our worries right now. Our job is just to make sure he's around to see it grow out again."

Sarah turns to her partner, grins a bit as she asks, "You've got a disguise kit in your car, right Casey? Or did you remove it to make more space for your guns?"

"Funny, Walker. Plenty of room for both. One of the reasons it's the best car ever made. I'll go and get it."

As he leaves, Morgan pipes up, "I can't believe he keeps a backup Crown Vic here in D.C."

Sarah shrugs her shoulders. "Probably a boy scout at some point." Then she turns to the nurse. "You have a pair of scissors we can use?"

…

Sitting in the guardhouse, Agent Dave Schultz looks down at his watch, yawning, and sees he still has three more hours on his shift. He has no idea why he was suddenly pulled from his duties at Fort Meade and assigned to this quiet medical facility. The rumor mill hinted it was Beckman herself who'd ordered a complete security detail down here. Probably for some VIP or something.

One thing he does know is how boring the job is. Since he started at midnight, exactly three cars have passed through the gate, two leaving, one arriving. That would be a typical ten minutes at his regular guard post, even this late at night.

He glances at his watch once again. Two hours and fifty-five minutes. He yawns again, but cuts it off as a car's headlights come into view. Without consciously realizing it, he straightens his jacket and confirms that his Glock is securely in its holster.

The red Prius comes to a halt as the guard punches the license number into his terminal. An ID photo appears on the screen. Nurse Karen Green. Forty-five. Five-foot-nine.

Armed with this information he steps out the door, his hand not straying far from his sidearm. He taps on the window and it rolls down. "Ma'am, would you please step out of the car." He backs off as the door opens and a woman in blue scrubs, meeting the nurse's description, exits the car.

He holds out his hand. "ID, please."

Handing it to him, she says, "I don't recognize you. Are you new here?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Temporary assignment."

With a quiet chuckle, she says, "Have I really reached that age where I have to be constantly addressed as a 'Ma'am'? How about you call me Karen?" She smiles, dazzlingly, and its power catches him unawares, momentarily throwing him off balance. So much so, that her ID slips from his hand and drops to the ground. Embarrassed, he bends down to pick it up. A little flustered, he quickly scans it before handing it back to her.

Trying to regain his composure, he clears his throat and says, "OK, you're good. However, I'll need you to pop the hatch."

She pushes a button on her fob and the latch releases. "Is this some new security measure? Why do you need to check?"

She looks over his shoulder as he shines his flashlight into the rear area. Seeing nothing unusual, he answers, trying to sound very official. "Can't say. Just obeying my orders." He closes the hatch.

"We're clear." He looks at the nurse and asks, "Seems like an odd time to start a shift."

She gives him a sheepish smile, "Actually, I was given the day off, but I just realized that I left my phone charger in my locker and now my battery is dead. So I had to drive all the way back here. Expecting a call this morning from my sister up in Canada. She gets all worried if I don't answer."

"You shouldn't be too long then."

"No, but since I'm here, I going to check on a patient under my care as well."

"Alright. I'll see you on your way out, Ma'—Karen."

She smiles again. "See you in while," she looks at his name badge, "David." She gracefully slides back into the car and carefully drives down into the parking area. And as she does, Agent Schultz wonders to himself if Nurse Karen Green could possibly be interested in a younger man.

…

Inside the hospital, Sarah stops as soon as she catches sight of the nurse's station nearest Chuck's room. Karen had told her that there'd only be the one nurse on duty there, but it would be one who knew Karen well. Sarah glances at her watch, waiting for the distraction they'd planned. Exactly on time, the phone at the station rings and the nurse turns away to take it, giving Sarah a chance to quickly walk by unobserved.

Grabbing a tray off a nearby cart, she quickly places a pill cup on it that she'd brought with her, then throws a couple of aspirin into it. Walking casually down the hallway, she rounds the corner and comes to Chuck's door. The guard there seems to be cut from the same cloth as the man at the gate. He tries to look alert, but Sarah can detect the boredom in his body language.

She gives him a big smile and sees him perk up. "Long night, huh?" She stands in a spot she'd noticed on her previous visits, a place where the light from two directions casts a slightly confusing shadow on her face.

He smiles back. "Yeah. Kind of."

She chuckles. "I know what you mean. Hate the night shift." She holds up her ID. "I'm here to give the patient his meds."

He looks at the ID and then back to her as she smiles again. "OK, you can go in."

"I'll check his vitals as well. Be just a few minutes."

"Take your time." He opens the door for her.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

…

As the door closes behind her, Sarah's eyes are immediately drawn to the man lying in the hospital bed. The room is darkened, but even in the dim light, she can see he appears to be asleep.

After walking quietly over to the bed, she studies him for a few seconds. Even sleeping, she can see the difference between now and the last time she saw him. There's color in his cheeks and instead of just lying there, still, he moves around for a few seconds, looking for a more comfortable position. Once he stops, she leans in and gently brushes back one of his stray curls.

He looks so peaceful that she hates to disturb him, but it has to be done. She gently shakes his shoulder and whispers softly, "Chuck, wake up."

He doesn't respond immediately, so she repeats herself, jogging him again. He opens his eyes, looking a little bleary as he brings himself to wakefulness.

Yawning, he says, "Hi, Karen. What's up?"

She leans in closer and says, "No, Chuck. It's me, Sarah."

He rubs his sleep-filled eyes, looks more closely and says, his voice low and tremulous, "Sarah? Is it really you?"

She rests her hand softly on his cheek and, smiling gently, quietly says, "Yes, Chuck, it is. I've missed you. So much."

But then he suddenly stiffens, pushing her hand away as he sits up on the edge of the bed. His voice hard, his expression harsh. "Have you really, _Sarah?_ Tell me, how would your husband feel about you being alone here with me, saying stuff like that?"

She's stunned, confused. "What?! I'm not married, Chuck!"

His voice is quiet, but the anger and the hostility she hears isn't in any way diminished by that. "Well, it just so happens that I have it on good authority that you are. I also know that you and the rest of the team are nothing more than actors playing a part. All of you pretending that you actually cared about me. Just so I'd keep spewing out the intel you guys wanted so badly."

Sarah feel the hairs on her arm stand up as a chill runs through her. And part of can't help but wonder if Morgan's idea wasn't really all that far-fetched.

"Chuck, that's crazy! You're being lied to!"

He sneers. "Yeah, you're certainly right about that. The question is, by whom? You or Beckman? Whom should I trust?"

"Me, Chuck! Trust me! Please!" Both seem momentarily surprised by the desperate pleading in her voice. But it's apparently not enough to sway him.

His face contorted with anger, he hisses, "Give me one goddamned reason why I should!"

Sarah has never seen him like this. Even when he'd been at his very lowest, hurt, again and again by her unkind words and actions, even then he'd never addressed her with such venomous bitterness, though she'd probably merited it. It's precisely at this moment when it's not being demonstrated, that Sarah realizes just how much she's come to depend upon, and, perhaps to her shame, to presume upon, his gentle forbearance.

She takes a step back, suddenly unsure of how to get through to him, how to disabuse him of the untruths he's been fed. And as they stare at each other, she can't help but wonder, for a moment, if he no longer cares for her, that his feelings for her had been far more fragile than she'd thought.

But then she recalls Karen's assurances, is convinced in her heart that, despite whatever it is that they've done to him, he still loves her.

Sarah knows she just has to reach him, somehow. But she also knows that, right at this moment, words alone won't be enough.

So she boldly steps in and, before he can react, grabs his head in her hands, crashing her lips into his.

 **TBC**

—

A/N: I know. Cruel place for a cliffhanger.

It's likely the next instalments will be little later than I'd hoped, but rest assured they will be there.


	8. Chapter 5 Carmichael

_A/N:Thanks to all who been following along. Review, even brief ones are truly appreciated._

 _Sorry this is so late. Some writers block. In the future, a month will probably be the interval between releases._

 _In this chapter we learn a little more history, a little more how and why. But with a few surprises for you as well._

 _Thank as always to my beta micahelfmx. His assistance has been invaluable. Any mistakes you notice are my responsibility. Last minute changes and such._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 _"Karen said she's bringing up four meals. Is someone else joining us?"_

 _"Yep," answers Eric._

 _"Who?"_

 _"It's a surprise."_

 _Before he can ask, the doors of the elevator open._

 _And there, not five feet away, grinning like a madman, stands a beardless Morgan Grimes._

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 5 Carmichael**

After they release each other from their back slapping hug, the shorter man says, "Dude, it's great to see you back on your feet."

Chuck, grinning from ear to ear, replies, "It feels great. And it's great to see you. But I gotta ask. What happened to the beard, buddy?"

Chuckling, the man rubs his hand over his smooth-shaven face. "Yeah, it feels strange to be without it. It's been my constant itchy companion for the last three years."

Chuck asks, "You didn't have one before?"

Then the memory hits him.

…

" _You keep missing that vulnerable spot on the Star Destroyer. That's why it always smokes you in the end."_

 _Charles Carmichael looks up from his PSP to see a short, dark-haired, somewhat Hispanic looking man standing beside him, one who, he belatedly realizes, has been looking over his shoulder for some time now._

" _Excuse me?"_

" _Oh, sorry. James Mackeroy. Resident NSA IT nerd. You're new here, aren't you?" The man sits across from him, offering his hand as he does so._

 _He takes it. "Charles Carmichael. And yes, I just started a few weeks back. First time I've seen you in the cafeteria."_

" _Well, they only let us out of the basement when the regular people are done, and then only if we promise not to get embroiled in the eternal Star Wars/Star Trek controversy. However, once a month, on taco day, we're granted a special dispensation."_

" _Really?" Charles gives his new acquaintance a look, unsure if he should take him seriously. His uncertainty, however, is quickly dispelled by the huge grin on the man's face._

" _Nah, dude, just messin' with you. The food here isn't always that great, so I usually bring my own lunch. But taco day, Charles, that's something special. Dragged myself in here once with a temperature of a hundred and one. No way I was gonna pass 'em up. They're the best."_

 _Seeing James' heavily loaded plate accompanied by what looks like grape soda, Charles can't help but agree. "Obviously." Liking him already, he watches, spellbound, as the first taco disappears in three massive bites, the hot sauce staining the skin around James' mouth._

 _Chuck, smiling at the man's antics as he hands him a napkin, asks, "Why don't you call me Chuck?"_

…

"You OK, Chuck? You kinda zoned out there."

Chuck shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. "Yeah, I'm fine. These little memory fragments keep popping up. Just remembered the first time we met."

"Yeah, taco day at Mom's, if I recall."

Puzzled, Chuck asks, "I thought it was the NSA cafeteria. Was I wrong?"

"Sorry, that's just what we called it. Because eating there was just like having home-cooked meals, assuming your mom was a really bad cook."

Chuck shakes his head laughing. "Except on taco day."

"You remember."

"Yeah, and I also remember the mess you made on your face. Good thing you didn't have the beard back then."

"I have no idea why you decided to make it part of the Morgan Grimes schtick. I couldn't tell you until now how much I hated the thing, at least at the start. Had to learn whole new eating habits. Drove me crazy for the first few months."

"Hey, I'm sorry about that."

He brushes it off. "Not to worry. Small price to pay."

It seems like such a little thing, this casual declaration. But to Chuck, hearing those words once again reminds him of just how much they've given up for him.

He chokes a bit, as he says, "Thanks." That small word failing miserably to convey the depth of his appreciation.

"De nada. You would've done the same for me. Although, I don't believe you could've rocked the beard the way I did."

Chuck gives his friend a grin, appreciating his effort to keep things light. He replies in kind, "So, James Mackeroy, is it? Funny, you don't look Scottish."

He laughs. "Well, when I go back home it's Jaime. But I always liked the sound of James, you know, like, 'Mackeroy. James Mackeroy.'"

Chuck isn't surprised by this. "Still doesn't explain where the name came from, buddy."

"Oh! My dad was a sailor in the Canadian navy. Met my mom when he was on shore leave in San Diego."

Chuck smirks as he says, "Didn't realize your real mom was the kind of woman who liked to hang around the docks."

"Smart ass. She was waitressing in a small cafe when she accidentally spilled a glass of water on the book he was reading at his table."

"You sure it was accidental?"

He shrugs. "All I know is what she told me. In any case, they fell in love. After he got out, they got married, and they eventually settled in Arizona."

"So you're half Canadian, eh?"

James doesn't miss the little jibe. "Well, at least this way I only say 'huh' half as often."

They both laugh. When Chuck hears their laughter echoed from a few feet behind him, he turns around, embarrassed, realizing that throughout this whole conversation he's temporarily forgotten about Rachel and Eric.

"Sorry, guys. Didn't mean to ignore you."

Rachel, still chuckling, says, "Don't worry about it, Chuck. Just happy to see you two reconnecting."

James calls out, "Hey, Rach. My offer still stands, you know, whenever you're ready to dump that loser husband of yours."

"Thanks, but I think I'll keep him for a while. Finally got him house trained. It'd be a shame to waste all that time and effort."

Eric speaks up, "Thanks, babe. I can really feel the love."

Chuck looks back and forth between the three of them, enjoying the banter. But then it clicks in.

He turns to his friend. "So you really did like Ellie, sorry, Rachel. I didn't make up that whole thing?"

"No, you didn't. Had a crush on her since the first project meeting. But she had this thing for tall, muscular, good looking doctor types. Tried real hard to help her see the error of her ways, although I was never quite as pathetic about it as Morgan was."

Chuck hears an amused-sounding snort from Rachel's direction, but she doesn't elaborate.

James looks her way again. "Last chance, Rach. Sooner or later, I'll be off the market."

Amused, she shakes her head. "No, James. Oh, and by the way, whatever market you're in better offer a return policy to any woman who's desperate enough to shop there."

With a hurt expression, he holds his hand over his heart and retorts, "You wound me, milady."

They all chuckle. Even James.

"Why don't we go and sit down?" suggests Eric.

Putting his arm around James' shoulder, Chuck follows the couple through the doors out onto the roof garden.

It's beautiful. Brick pathways wind their way around grassy areas, under the trees that look like they're just about ready to drop their colorful leaves. Over in one corner, he sees a fountain, the sight of which sends a momentary sharp pang through his heart.

Eric and Rachel lead the way to a round table, one which is mercifully in the opposite corner.

Looking at the two friends, Rachel tells them, "We'll go and sit over there," she points to bench that's far enough way to give them some privacy, "and give you guys a few minutes alone." The couple walks to the bench and, sitting close, start talking quietly.

As he sits, Chuck is glad he brought his jacket, although the propane patio heater takes most of the chill from the air. "So, James, tell me how a miscreant such as yourself wound up working on the project?" he asks, grinning.

"Well, we got to be friends by bonding over stuff in life, like how the Ewoks were the most annoying characters in the original trilogy and that Picard was the best Star Trek captain. Once we agreed on the important things like that, it was smooth sailing. You quickly saw how valuable I would be to the team."

"So what exactly was your part?"

James puffs up his chest. "What was _my_ part? I built the Intersect, that's all."

Chuck, somewhat dubious, asks, "Seriously? All by yourself?"

"Well, I built the machine it was housed in. After you designed it. Then you guys figured out what went into it. But there wouldn't have been an Intersect without me."

Chuck replies, putting on a serious expression, "I wouldn't sound all that proud if I were you. You do realize that it was the Intersect that kinda wrecked me, right?"

"Oh, sorry, man. I forgot."

Chuck laughs ruefully at his crestfallen expression. "Don't worry, James. If anyone's to blame it should be me. After all, I'm the one who came up with the accursed idea in the first place."

And with that the conversation comes to a temporary halt, both thinking of how such a promising beginning had led to such catastrophic consequences.

Trying to lighten the mood, Chuck cheerily asks, "Do you have a picture of the computer? Just how big was the thing?"

"Got one on my iPhone." James digs it out of his pocket and, after searching for five or ten seconds, turns it Chuck's way.

"Sorry, buddy. Think that's the wrong photo. What you're showing me is a Mac Classic."

James smirks. "Nope, that's the Intersect all right."

"You're kidding."

James shakes his head.

"You're not kidding. Why on earth did we try to fit it inside of that?"

"It was our little inside joke. Kind of an ironic comment on that Apple 1984 commercial, you know, the whole Big Brother thing."

"Did anyone else get it?"

"Nah. At least no one said anything."

"Well, I guess we'll just keep it our little secret then."

"Sounds good."

Chuck studies his friend thoughtfully for a few seconds.

"James, I would like to apologize to you."

Looking puzzled, he replies, "For what?"

"For making you take on a character like Morgan Grimes. I love the guy, but he did have odd quirks, to put it mildly."

James' voice is serious, his expression firm as he says, "Chuck, there was no 'making me' do anything. I did what needed to be done because you're my friend. What kind of pal would I've been if I'd turned my back on you when you needed me," he gestures to Rachel and Eric, "when you needed all of us the most?"

"But you had to give up so much. Your family, your friends for three years—"

"Yes, of course, it was hard. Uprooting our lives and moving to a place where none of us had any connections or history. Having only limited contact with family."

Chuck interrupts, "What did you tell your parents?"

"Oddly enough, I was able to basically tell them the truth, that I was on a classified long-term assignment and would likely only be talking to them over Skype."

"What did they say?"

"Well, they weren't sure why an IT guy from the NSA would be involved in such an enterprise, but they were actually quite proud of me. Mom was worried that I would be facing some physical danger, but I was able to tell them that that really wasn't in my department."

"You didn't see them at all during that whole time?"

"No, there was one time. When my dad fell ill, I got written out of the script, so to speak. At least for a while."

"When?"

"The whole Benihana chef thing. I was at home the whole time, helping out my mom until my dad recovered."

"What?! You weren't in Hawaii?"

James smirks. "You aren't the only one who's able to spoof an IP address, you know."

"So the whole broken-hearted over Anna and the unhappy return was all an act?"

"Yup. We couldn't tell you the truth, so we came up with that story. Unfortunately, there were a lotta times we couldn't be truthful if we were going to stay in character."

Chuck just shakes his head in wonder.

James goes on, a little sadly. "I actually liked Anna, though. That part wasn't totally an act."

"I'm sorry, buddy. What happened to you guys?"

"Well, when I went home, she was reassigned and that was it for us."

"What do you mean reassigned? Was she sent to another branch?"

James smacks himself in the forehead. "Idiot! I keep forgetting you don't know the whole story. Chuck, Anna was a low-level NSA agent assigned to the Buy More."

He's incredulous. "You're kidding."

"Nope. She was there for security and protective duty if needed, but she wasn't read in on the Intersect. None of the others were, either."

"Others? What others?" Chuck can hear that high pitched inflection in his voice that he so dislikes, but simply can't stop himself.

"Big Mike, for one. He'd had a minor position in the CIA but was eventually cashiered out after failing a bunch of physicals. But since he actually worked for the Buy More and was properly vetted, it was pretty easy to fit him into the Burbank store when the time came."

Chuck shakes his head again. "No wonder I was able to get all that time off for missions."

James grins, "Yes, that was one of his prime responsibilities, making sure you were always available, although he had no exact idea what for."

Chuck is afraid to ask, but pushes himself past it. "You said others. It wasn't Harry Tang, was it?"

"No, Chuck. He was a first-class jerk all on his own."

"Then who else…" Chuck's voice tapers off as he tries to figure it out. Then it hits him right between the eyes. "Oh, no! Please don't tell me it was—"

The smirk on James' face gives him the answer even before he answers. "Yes, Chuck. Jeff and Lester."

Chuck stammers in reply, "How…how is that possible?"

"They'd been the IT team for an obscure NSA substation in Wyoming when this whole thing began. Both had been shunted around from place to place, never quite fitting in," Chuck snorts at this, "before winding up there. That would have been their last stop before the bosses finally found some way to be rid of them. But when the need for a secure core group at the Buy More became known, someone or other remembered the two of them and suggested we bring them in. They were told the bare minimum. Just ordered, under penalty of law, to keep their mouths shut. They were promised a generous early retirement package if they did their job."

"Was it all an act?"

"Well, they were an odd couple even before, but they were pretty much given free rein when they came on board. It was thought their oddities would make a good cover for the serious stuff that was going on under the surface."

Chuck nods. "I can see that, but still…Jeff and Lester?"

James grins. "Well, it seems they both came from the school of method acting, so really threw themselves into their parts."

Chuck shakes his head in disbelief. "So how did you guys manage this whole thing? Setting up the Buy More?"

"Man, it was great. We sorta did the whole 'Dread Pirate Roberts' thing. My idea, by the way. First, the government, using a dummy corporation, took over the franchise. We then closed the store for renovations. All the current staff was let go with a decent severance package. Then the core group, me, Anna, Big Mike, Jeff and Lester took over the place. We started hiring new staff, who naturally assumed we were the few they'd kept on, with Big Mike as boss. We deliberately chose a bunch of losers, people who wouldn't clue in to what was happening behind the scenes. Then, when everything was ready, Chuck Bartowski was fitted into position."

Shaking his, Chuck says, confused. "I don't understand how that would work. Why the Buy More in the first place? And why would I just fit in?"

"Chuck, you'd told me that you had worked in a Buy More the last summer before you went to MIT. When you laid out the story for us, you incorporated that experience into it. That part wasn't very specific, except that you did mention the names of some of the oddballs you'd worked with. We'd hoped that placing you back in a Buy More along with a group using familiar names would be enough for you to accept the whole scenario."

"Apparently it did. But let me get this straight. Are you telling me that everyone in the place had fake names?"

"No. Sorry I wasn't clearer. Just the core group. I've been using their Buy More cover names for so long that I just find it natural to speak of them that way."

"Was Morgan Grimes part of my Buy More memory as well?"

"No. While you obviously based a lot of him on me, we've never been able to figure out where the specifics came from. You just blithely accepted his peculiarities. That he was an important part of your life, that we had this history together."

Chuck nods at that, running the whole thing through his mind. "There are an awful lot of holes. I really don't understand why I would blindly go along with all of it."

"Chuck, Ellie, I mean Rachel, explained it to me once. Chuck Bartowski had no choice but to believe he was who he thought he was, that the life he had was real, the alternative being too much for his psyche to handle. So your mind glossed over the mistakes we made, ignored the inconsistencies in the world we'd hurriedly created. You believed because you had to believe to survive."

"Why don't I remember any of this?"

James shakes his head. "We don't know for certain. For the first couple of days after you were awoken, you acted strangely, kinda like you were trying to absorb everything around you, commit it all to memory. You didn't speak, just listened to everybody. You explored your environment, where you lived, the Buy More, really the whole neighborhood. It was kinda weird."

"How long did that go on for?"

"Like I said, a couple of days. But on the third morning, when I came to your place to pick you up for our first day at the Buy More, you were completely in character as Chuck Bartowski, curly-haired, outgoing, chief Nerd Herder. Ready, along with our core group, to meet the new staff and reopen the Buy More."

"That I do remember, but it seemed to me I'd been there for years."

James nods. "I know. For the five of us, part of our job was to make sure everyone on staff believed the same thing. And to reinforce your belief as well."

"It's hard to believe that it all worked."

"Yeah. The truth is we were kinda surprised that we managed to pull it off. But it became a little easier from that day on because you now were 'Chuck Bartowski'. And we could all begin to settle into the routine of his life. By the way, that morning was the first time you called me Morgan."

Chuck shakes his head in wonder. In a day full of startling revelations, James' tale is hardly the most surprising one. Nonetheless, it drives home the massive effort that had gone into making this whole thing possible, for he knows that, as complicated as this story is, it's only the tip of the iceberg. He can only imagine how many other things had to go right in order to make "Bartowski World" functional.

His train of thought is interrupted as the doors to roof garden open and he sees Karen walk out, pushing a cart with four covered plates in front of her.

Both men stand as she wheels it up to their table and says, smiling, "I believe four cheeseburger meals were requested."

As the two doctors walk over to join them, Rachel says, "Yes, Karen. Thanks." Gesturing to James, she says, "I don't believe you two have officially met. Karen Green, this is James Mackeroy."

As the two shake hands, James says, a little shyly, "Thanks for taking such good care of my man, Karen."

"You're welcome, James. It's been a pleasure to do so." She grins. "And now that he's awake, perhaps you can bring him up to date on the stories you read to him every day."

Chuck, caught by surprise, turns to his friend and asks, "What was that?"

He doesn't answer, just blushes a bit as Karen replies for him, "Chuck, he came in every afternoon, like clockwork, and stayed for a couple of hours, reading to you from graphic novels."

Chuck puts his hand on James' shoulder, looks into his face and asks quietly, "You did that for me, buddy?"

"Hey, I had to, otherwise you wouldn't have any idea what was happening with the Justice League. Couldn't let that happen, could I?"

"No, you're right. Losing touch would be a tragedy of epic proportions. Thanks."

"No prob. Gave me the chance to catch up as well."

The four of them sit while Karen places their meals in front of them. Reaching down, she pulls a small cooler from the bottom of the cart. Looking at Rachel, she says, "I even scrounged up some beers, if that's OK?"

Rachel hesitates for a second, looking across the table at Chuck. Seeing his pleading look, she capitulates. "OK. You can have a beer, but only one. Capiche?"

Chuck grins, "Yes, mom."

She grins back. "Hey! Don't get smart with me, mister, or I'll take away that unhealthy cheeseburger as well."

They're still chuckling as Karen wheels away the cart and heads for the door.

James follows the nurse with his eyes. "I hadn't gotten a close look at Karen's face before. She's quite attractive. You know she looks a lot like what an older version of—"

Rachel jumps in. "I think she's a little old for you, James."

It's not the first time Karen's passing resemblance to Sarah has been on Chuck's mind. It's little painful each time he thinks about it, so is grateful for Rachel's blatantly obvious, but well-meaning, attempt to steer the conversation in a different direction.

James appears to get the hint, so says nothing further on the matter. In fact, for the next few minutes, no one speaks. Rather, they simply concentrate on their meals. Chewing his last mouthful, Chuck knows that Karen must have prodded the cooks to produce food as good as this. He reminds himself to thank her later.

Looking around the table filled with his friends, his family if it comes to that, Chuck is suddenly taken by the thought he knows almost nothing real about these people, just these brief flashes of memory and the assurances he's received that their personas were reasonably close to their real personalities.

He's been told that they'd worked exceptionally well together on Project Omaha. He's been told that they'd become very close, that their relationship went well beyond that of workmates.

He's been told so much.

And therein lies the problem. And though he believes them, being told is not the same was remembering it himself. Experiencing it himself.

Chuck can only wonder what it'd been like to get to know people such as these. Wonders if he really was a person good enough to garner such loyal friends. Wonders what it was in him that they saw that would impel them to stick by him, even when all he was able to give them was this made-up person.

He has to know.

He blurts out, "Why would you sacrifice so much for me?"

His friends just look at him, each of them seemingly confounded by his question.

Rachel, the first to recover, asks, "What do you mean, Chuck?"

"You had to give up your lives. Give up yourselves so you could be these…these fake people. For three freaking years. For me. And before you say it, I know the Intersect was very important. But surely we could have found a way, somehow or other, to make it usable without putting all of you through all this. How could I've been worth all that?"

The three of them exchange looks before Rachel turns back to him and says, very earnestly, very quietly, "Because we love you."

The sincerity of her simple reply stuns him for a moment. But his doubts still gnaw at him.

"How can you say that? I'm not him. I'm not Charles." Hanging his head, he adds, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm nobody."

Rachel takes his hand, softly says, "Chuck, please look at me." After a few seconds, he does so, albeit reluctantly.

"You're right, Chuck. You're not him. And you'll never be that man again, even if all your memories return. Because Chuck Bartowski will always be there, in some way or another. His life, his experiences will always be part of you from now on."

Looking into her eyes, he sadly says, "That's what I mean. What if I never get back to being the person you love?"

Returning his gaze, Rachel shakes her head. "No, Chuck. You misunderstood. When I said we love you, I meant the person sitting right here at this table with us, the man you are right now, not some past ideal."

"I'm not sure I understand. All of you became part of this because you were so close to Charles, so how can feel that way about me, a person whose life only exists in my mind?"

Chuck turns his head as Eric answers from across the table. "No, Chuck. You're wrong. Chuck Bartowski is as real as anyone who walks this earth. Some people go through their entire lives without managing to do an ounce of good in this world. They never truly love nor are truly loved. But you, in three years, have accomplished both those things in abundance."

James picks up the thread. "Even if Chuck Bartowski was to completely disappear, right now, there would be people who would never forget him. In the end, isn't that part of what defines our existence?"

Suddenly speechless, he can only acknowledge their kind words with a nod.

"And aside from all that, you and Charles Carmichael are very much alike," Rachel says.

"I am?" There'd been hints of that ever since Beckman had initiated the day's revelations, but hearing it stated so plainly catches him a bit by surprise.

"Yes, Chuck, you are. Good men, both."

"Thank you." Looking around the table, he realizes how much he wants to know these people better. But he knows he won't really be able to do that until he better knows himself.

So, gripping Rachel's hand tightly, he asks, "Tell me about Charles Carmichael."

…

She walks. With no goal in mind, she simply places one foot after the other until one mile turns into two, two into five and five into ten.

Returning to the D.C. apartment after all these years had been like walking into a time capsule. The government had paid the rent and maintained it, but, other than that, had left everything exactly the way it was on the day all of them had packed up and moved their lives to California.

At first, the plethora of memories contained within its walls had given her a small measure of comfort, a smidgen of hope that she might be able to get back at least some of that which had been so cruelly taken from her.

But that had only lasted until he'd awoken. Until he had, with a single word, a name, dashed that hope into tiny, seemingly irreparable fragments.

She wonders how she could have ever been so foolish as to come back here. She realizes it had been a serious mistake to sleep here once again, to let herself be bombarded by the constant reminders of a different life, a different time. So she'd moved herself to a hotel, but, in the end, she'd found her room constrictive, to the point she almost felt as if she were suffocating.

So she walks. It's cold enough that she's able to wear a bulky long coat, her long, unwashed hair tucked up inside a knitted cap. She wears no makeup. The last thing she wants right now is for some idiot to try and hit on her. Nonetheless, one man attempts to do so, only to stop mid-sentence and walk hurriedly away when she turns her baleful glare upon him.

Rachel, obviously worried, had volunteered to spend time with her. But she'd politely turned down the doctor's offers, preferring the solitude of her own company.

She has no idea of what she's going to say, what she's going to do when she faces him once more. Truth be told, she doesn't even know if she _can_ face him again.

Plagued by her irresolution, she's held back from seeing him, had informed Rachel that she might come tomorrow. And at this moment, she's tempted to rethink even that vague commitment. Such indecisiveness is not her norm. She tells herself that it's just fatigue, the natural result of her inability to snatch more than a few hours of sleep on each of the past few nights.

So she walks, hoping to exhaust herself to the point where she'll simply fall onto her bed, into oblivion. Until tomorrow, when maybe, just maybe, she'll be able to find the strength she needs.

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: I know you want to see her introduced into this story. Truth be told, I'm impatient to do so as well. But we're getting closer._

 _As a consolation, I urge you to read the next chapter in the Bartwoski arc. I feel this might just tide you over until she makes her appearance in this arc._

 _Thanks, WvonB_


	9. Chapter 5 Bartowski

_A/N: I'm sensing that this is the more popular arc, and that's OK. It is the more familiar story after all. And good things are happening more quickly. Especially this chapter._

 _Thanks to micahelfmx my beta for his continued support and ideas._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 _Sarah knows she just has to reach him, somehow. But she also knows that, right at this moment, words alone won't be enough._

 _So she boldly steps in and, before he can react, grabs his head in her hands, crashing her lips into his._

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 5 Bartowski**

He's clearly flummoxed by her actions, for he makes no attempt to reciprocate. Rather, he tries to pull away, is only prevented from doing so by the deceptive strength of her slim arms.

 _No, Chuck. I'm not letting you get away that easily._

Something's different. It takes Sarah a second to realize that, because he's sitting on the edge of his bed, she actually has to tilt her head the tiniest bit _down_ to kiss him. It's a little strange, but it does nothing to dampen her efforts. So, with his spread legs on either side of her, she moves in even closer, virtually eliminating the last remaining space between them. Moving her hands to his hair and running her fingers through his thick curls, she leans in just a little more, pours all she has into her kiss, hoping he'll understand all that she's trying to convey.

He's still unresponsive.

 _Dammit, Chuck!_

She parts her lips, and this finally elicits a reaction from him. He groans as he wraps his arms around her, drawing her even tighter against him. She feels his lips moving urgently, desperately against her own. And just like that, the kiss becomes a frenzied, almost frantic thing.

She moans as her legs suddenly seem to lose their strength, grateful that he holds her so tightly. Otherwise, she might fall to the ground. Or perhaps float away.

She's not sure which.

But after far too short a time (not that hours would've been enough in her estimation), he abruptly stops, pulls his head back a few inches and loosens his embrace.

He shakes his head, and breathlessly says, "No. No, Sarah. I can't do this. I can't." He turns away, won't look at her.

Chuck's action is so unexpected that Sarah, still trying to catch her breath, is rocked back on her heels. She'd believed that his impassioned response to her kiss was proof that she'd finally gotten through to him, so his words shake her to her very core. Unconsciously, she takes a step back, confused by his apparent rejection of everything that kiss had offered.

Fighting hard against her inborn urge to flee from these types of emotional confrontations, Sarah calms herself, takes a deep breath, and asks, "What, Chuck? What can't you do?"

"I won't be the man who ruins your marriage. The man you love deserves all of you." Sarah can tell he's making every effort to be firm with her, but his voice has nothing of the spiteful bitterness of just a few minutes ago. Instead, she only hears the disappointment of a man resigned to his fate.

She's frustrated by his dogged insistence that she has a husband stashed away somewhere. It's to the point that she almost feels like slapping some sense into him. That is, until she looks into his eyes and sees, just before he turns away, the anguish and shame that fills them.

 _Oh, Chuck! What have they done to you?_

So, instead of carrying through on that first impulse, she moves in and places her hand on his cheek, turning his head back towards her. He fights her for a moment, but she's strong, so he gives in, albeit reluctantly, his eyes downcast.

Speaking quietly, she tries to inject a confidence she doesn't truly feel into her tone. "Charles Irving Bartowski." She feels him jerk a little at the mention of his name. "Look at me." When he stubbornly refuses, she sternly adds, "Now, Chuck."

He raises his head, looks into her eyes. Seeing the depths of his despair, her resolve almost crumbles, but she forces herself to carry on.

"Chuck, I've never told you this, but you know me better than any other person in this whole world." His eyes widen at that. "Yes, Chuck, you do. So I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to ask you. And I need you to look into your heart before you answer. Don't pay any attention to what someone else may have told you about me. Trust your heart, Chuck. Can you do that?"

She waits, and a few seconds later he gives her a jerky little nod. "I'll try."

"Good. So, I ask you, knowing me as well as you do, do you really think that I would kiss you the way I just did if there was someone else? Do you honestly believe that I'm the type of woman who would cheat on the man I've promised myself to? I'm not talking flirting or other stuff for a mission, but out and out cheating. Do you feel," Sarah tentatively places her hand over his heart, "right here, that I'm actually that kind of person?"

"Sarah, I want to believe what you said, but a part of me thinks—"

She cuts him off, quite forcefully. "Don't think, Chuck. Feel. I know they've been filling your head with lies. But I firmly believe your heart still knows the truth. Listen to it. Please."

He looks closely at her, his eyes searching her face, looking, if she had to guess, for something in it that would lend credence to her words. Sarah knows how easy it would be to sway him with her tears, her choking, hesitant words, but she won't do that, even though that's exactly what a part of her _wants_ to do. No, he must decide for himself what to believe. So she holds herself in check, clamps down on her emotions, and simply stares at him as she awaits her fate. Not unlike, she thinks, the accused awaiting the jury's decision.

His mental struggle is clearly evident in his expression, but after what seems like an eternity, he shakes his head. "No, Sarah. I don't believe you're the kind of person who would ever do that. That's not you." Hanging his head, blushing, he mutters, seemingly to himself, "It just seemed to make so much sense the way she laid it all out."

His abject remorse is very clear as he brings his eyes back to hers, then says, "God, I'm so ashamed that I fell for all that crap. Can you forgive me?'

She gives him a little smile. "Good. I'm glad you figured that out. And yes, I do forgive you." She pauses for a second, then takes his hand in hers. "Chuck, there are a lot of things we need to sort out. Lots of questions that both of us need answers to. But first, I have to know why you believed, even for a second, that I, that all of us, have been lying to you about who we are and what you mean to us. You said it seemed to make sense. Just what did she tell you?"

Before he can answer, there's a knock on the door, followed by a somewhat muffled, "Nurse Green, is everything OK in there? You've been a while."

Under her breath, Sarah mutters, "Dammit. Chuck, I'll have to stall him." She turns to walk to the door, but is held back as he grabs her arm.

She looks back over her shoulder, sees him point to his lips.

He whispers, "Sarah, your lipstick."

"Thanks." Embarrassed, she takes a tissue and dabs around her mouth as she walks to the door.

 _That would've been an interesting one to try and explain._

Opening the door a foot or so, she sees the guard looking at her a little suspiciously.

"Is there some sort of problem, Nurse?"

"No, nothing serious. When I went to take his vitals, he woke up right in the middle of a bad dream. It scared him pretty badly, so he wanted to talk about it. That's it." She shrugs her shoulders, smiles. "You know how it is. Everybody wants to tell nurses and bartenders their problems."

The man nods. "OK. Will you be much longer? My replacement comes on in fifteen minutes or so, and if you'll still be here, I'll need to alert him."

Shaking her head, she says, "No. I'll be finished before then. Thank you for your concern."

After closing the door, she quickly walks back over to where Chuck still sits, perched on the edge of his bed. She sits down beside him, and, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, takes his hand once again. Sarah, thoughtful as she looks towards the door for a second or two, doesn't notice Chuck's downward glance, doesn't notice his little smile at seeing their entwined fingers, her thumb gently stroking the side of his hand.

He quickly drops the smile as she turns to him. "OK, I've bought us ten minutes or so. So, quickly, give me the condensed version of what happened between you and Beckman yesterday."

He's obviously embarrassed, looking down at the floor as he starts to speak. "Beckman came to visit me after lunch. She insisted in addressing me as Agent Carmichael. When I asked her to use my real name, she told me that Chuck Bartowski didn't really exist, that I made him up when I became the human Intersect three years ago. She then told me that Charles Carmichael was my real name and that I'd been living a made up life as Chuck Bartowski, without knowing the truth of my real identity."

Sarah growls, "We thought it might be something like that." Softening her tone, she asks, "Chuck, why did you trust her?

He turns to look at her. "I didn't really, at least not at first. It just seemed like some horrible practical joke. But I was confused. I had no real memory of why I was brought here. I even accused her of trying to make me into some sort of weapon against my will. But she didn't get angry as I would've expected, instead was kind, patient, and seemed so sincere. All of which I felt was out of character for her, but it made me doubt my memories just a little. However, the kicker came when she told me who'd created the Intersect in the first place."

"Your dad, right?"

"No, Sarah." He smirks. "Me. Or, should I say, the Charles Carmichael me."

She's incredulous. "What?!"

"Yes, she told me his story and the idea he'd come up with. About how he joined the NSA after graduating from MIT, wanting to use his talents to help protect the country."

Sarah shakes her head, disbelievingly. "I'm sorry, Chuck, but surely that must have seemed far-fetched, even for someone who likes science fiction as much as you. Why on god's earth did you ever believe her?"

"I don't think I would've, but something happened immediately after she told me that little tidbit."

She asks, dubiously, "What?"

"I remembered being in Beckman's office, meeting her for the first time. The very moment she told Charles Carmichael that Project Omaha was a go. Sarah, it felt like I was right there. It was all so crystal clear. So convincing. And, if that had actually happened, and it certainly seemed like it had, everything else suddenly became believable."

Nodding, Sarah says, "The big lie principle." She makes sure she has his attention before she adds, "Chuck, you have to believe me, that meeting never occurred."

He nods. "I do now. And since that was the foundation for me believing the rest of her story, everything else tumbles to the ground." Shaking his head, he adds, "I just don't understand where that memory came from."

"According to Ellie's best guess, that memory was snuck in, implanted during the procedure you were brought here for."

He's excited. "Ellie's here?" He jumps from the bed, turns to face her. "Is she OK? When can I see her? Is the rest of the group with her?"

She also stands. Taking his hands in hers, she gives them a squeeze, trying to calm him down from his exuberant, almost childlike eagerness. Looking up into his eyes, she says, chuckling gently, "Hold on there, mister. That's a lot of questions. Which one do you want answered first?"

"OK. OK. Is Ellie alright?"

"Yes, she's fine. She's just a few miles away. And yes, Morgan, Devon and Casey are with her. And before you ask, they're all fine as well."

"Thank god," he says, his relief obvious.

She asks, "Why were you worried, Chuck?"

He sits on the bed once again. "Since none of you visited, and you had to change your appearance to get in here, I was starting to worry whether Beckman had thrown everyone else into a bunker or something."

"No, Chuck, nothing quite as bad as that. First of all, we _did_ visit you, every day before you woke up. But afterward, Beckman set up roadblocks to keep us away. Gave us a bunch of lame excuses to stop us from seeing you. As for me, you've probably guessed that Karen helped us, just so I could get in to talk with you."

He grins, "Yeah, I kinda figured that. That doesn't surprise me. She's a really great person."

"Yes, she is. She's put her career on the line for us. Maybe her freedom."

He sounds worried. "Could it be as bad as that?"

Sarah shrugs her shoulders. "Not sure. It depends on what Beckman's trying to do and how vindictive she'll be when we stop her. Speaking of the General, what else did she tell you?"

"Well, she said I inadvertently downloaded the Intersect when I found Bryce Larkin, Fulcrum agent, mind you, in the lab stealing the data. And after that, I created the whole Bartowski world in my mind as a way of mentally protecting myself from its effects. She also informed me that none of you really existed. That all of you were basically figments of my imagination. Characters I made up, played by volunteers in order to keep the whole Bartowski Intersect world going. People who had their real lives, real families to return to."

Shaking her head disgustedly, she says, "That woman's fiendishly clever. She knew that tossing in Bryce as a villain would push your buttons, perhaps enough to distract you from any of the holes in her story." She pauses, "OK, I've got the basic idea, and that's enough for now. We'll discuss the rest of the details at some later time. But, Chuck, the most important question right now is what Beckman's planning. What is she trying to talk you into doing?"

"That came toward the end of our discussion yesterday. I was told that they brought me here because they saw some signs that Carmichael hadn't completely disappeared. They'd thought by removing the Intersect, he would resurface. But Beckman, as well as the two doctors with her, admitted they'd made a mistake. They told me that they'd come to realize the Intersect was, in fact, critical in bringing him back. So they asked me to think about downloading the current version, and then use it as I did before while waiting for him to reappear on his own."

Suddenly, all Sarah can see is red. Yes, they'd discussed that this was likely Beckman's end game. But to actually hear it confirmed by the man who would likely pay the ultimate price for her perfidy, sets off a raging fury within her. She spits out, "That bitch! Chuck, that thing damned near killed you and now she wants you to download it again?"

For the second time in the past few hours, Sarah has to strive to get her wrath under control. She takes a deep breath and starts to let it out, but when she sees the look of complete bewilderment on his face, her anger is instantly supplanted by empathy for his situation.

 _Of course, he has no idea what happened._

"Sarah, what do you mean when you said the Intersect almost killed me?"

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I was so absorbed in your story that I forgot you don't know why you were brought here. Basically, you couldn't handle it anymore. Your mind was crumbling to the point that you had trouble distinguishing reality from all that stuff you had in your head. So we brought you here to have it removed before it killed you, or, at the very least, caused severe brain damage."

His shoulders slump. "Oh. I had no idea."

Cupping his face with her hand, she asks, a little anxiously, "But you're fine now, right? You know what's real and what's not, don't you?"

He gives a rueful chuckle, self-deprecatingly says, "Apparently, I'm still having some trouble with that, considering that I believed all that crap they've been telling me."

She vigorously shakes her head. "No, Chuck. That's not the same thing. You were lied to by a master manipulator. Purposely isolated from the people who love you. It's no wonder you were confused, overwhelmed. But you know better now and we're not going to let her get away with it, right?"

He shakes his head, says in a determined voice, "No, we won't."

But then, very quickly, his mood changes and he seems hesitant, nervous as he asks, "Sarah?"

"Yes, Chuck?"

"I'm not certain I fully understand something you said a second ago."

"What?"

"You said I was isolated from the people who love me. I'm not exactly sure whom you meant."

 _Damn! Trust him to pick up on her slip of the tongue._

Her instinct is to prevaricate, so, before she can stop herself, that's exactly what she does. "Well, there's Ellie and Devon, of course. Morgan as well."

"You're sure that's all?" It's easy to see his disappointment, hear it in his voice. Let down by her defensive instincts once again, Sarah has trouble meeting his searching gaze.

Driving here, Sarah had been determined that this night was going to be it, the moment she admits to him what she's hidden for so long. But now that the moment has actually arrived, she feels like a swarm of butterflies has abruptly decided to take up residence in her abdomen. It's a feeling that's utterly foreign to her. So much so, that it gives her pause, making her wonder if it might not be better to put it off until all of this is behind them.

But then Karen's words come back to her. And the painful memory of so many opportunities thrown away for no real reason other than her almost certainly baseless fears.

 _It's time, Sarah._

What if he'd never woken up? What would it have been like to go through the remainder of her life bereft of this lovely man, carrying the burden that they'd never had their time, not even their moment because she'd lacked the courage to express what was in her heart?

 _Tell him._

She wants to, so much. But it's not easy for her, this honest, outright expression of genuine, deep-seated feelings, an action she's been taught to guard against for as long as she can remember.

So she casts about, trying to find some way of easing herself into it. Then her mind lights on something he'd said earlier, so she asks him, "Chuck, a little while ago you said that you feel the man I love deserves to have all of me, right?"

He appears surprised by the apparent change of subject, but after a moment he replies, nodding, "Yes, Sarah, I do. And you would deserve the same in turn."

"I agree. That's only right and proper. It would be cheating for two people to give each other anything less."

"And you're not a cheater."

"No, I'm not."

Sarah takes a couple of steps back, stands straight in front of him, her arms hanging limply by her sides. Vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, she softly says, "So, here, Chuck. Here's all of me."

He stares blankly at her, apparently unable to process her words. It's a few seconds before he speaks, or more accurately, stammers, "What…what are you saying, Sarah?"

"I'm giving you what you deserve." She adds, suddenly feeling a little shy, "If that's what you want."

A startled look of comprehension crosses his face. He asks quietly, disbelief tempering the hope in his voice, "Sarah, are you trying to tell me that you love me?"

She gives him a crooked grin, suddenly a little teary-eyed. "Yes, I am. And apparently, I'm doing a really crappy job of it, since you have to keep ask—"

Her words are cut off as he practically launches himself off the bed, covering the distance between them in a heartbeat. It all happens so quickly that she barely has time to close her eyes before he almost crushes her in his arms, kissing her, so fervently, so deeply, that she truly understands what it means to have one's breath taken away.

She feels tears wetting her cheeks. Wonders if they're his. Or hers. Maybe both.

Not that it matters.

No, the only truly important thing is that she didn't get here too late. Her Chuck is _still_ her Chuck. That's all that really matters.

Oh, that and the oft-repeated assurances of his love that he murmurs in her ear between heated kisses.

She finds that they also matter.

Quite a lot.

If she had her druthers, she'd stay this way in his embrace all day. But, of course, that's not possible, at least not right now. So when his lips move to her neck, giving her a chance to catch her breath, she takes the opportunity to speak,

"Chuck, sweetie, I'm so sorry, but we have to stop. The guard will be expecting me in a couple of minutes."

He doesn't even pause, apparently not hearing her. Or choosing to ignore her, which, to Sarah, seems much more likely.

She injects some firmness into her voice. "Chuck, we have to stop."

She hears, feels his groan as he pulls away. "I know. Sarah, do you think you could talk him into giving us a little more time? Like maybe a decade or five?"

She chuckles a little at that. "I suspect not. We'll just have to continue this at some future date. After we get you out of this place."

Eagerly, he asks, "You've got a plan?"

"We're working on it. Casey wanted to launch an all-out frontal assault, guns blazing. While it may come to that in the end, we're still hoping to come up with something a little stealthier and a little less like storming a beach."

"How will I know when and how?"

"We'll communicate through Karen. She'll be coming in tonight for the midnight shift. In the meantime, you'll need to stall them. Keep them believing that you're leaning towards downloading it again, but convince them that you still need more time."

Nodding he says, "OK, I can do that. So I might see you early tomorrow morning?"

"Possibly, if things go well."

"OK." He gently takes her hands in his. "Not seeing you for that long is going to be really difficult."

She swallows, unable to speak for a moment. "For me as well."

Stepping close once more, he softly says, "Before you go, I need to tell you something, something I should have remembered when Beckman was telling me her lies. I'm ashamed that I didn't, that I let her fabrications temporarily push it out of my mind."

She worriedly asks, "What, Chuck?"

"The night I came out of the coma, I was dreaming. Crazy, fractured, tumbled dreams that made no sense. Until a memory clicked in and then, suddenly, everything became clear. Everything fell into place. It all made sense."

"What memory?"

"Of you, Sarah."

She gasps, "Oh!"

"Sarah Walker, you're the constant in my life. You have been since the day I met you. You're the one who makes my life make sense. If I'd remembered that, I wouldn't have believed anything Beckman said about you, and I wouldn't have accused you of the things that I did."

She tries really hard to blink back her tears.

"So please remember this. Sarah Walker, I love you. I always have and I always will."

She chokes up even more, his face suddenly blurry.

She stammers, her head down. "I…I…"

Cupping her face with his large hands, he gently brings her head up and looks into her eyes. Softly, he says, "Hey, hey. Sarah, it's OK. Just knowing how you feel is enough. I don't need the exact words." He quietly chuckles. "Hell, if I hadn't been so caught up in my angry self-pity loop when you walked in, that kiss would have told me all I needed to know."

While Sarah appreciates his effort to let her off the hook, her reticence still shames her. Not only on this occasion, but also all those other times when she could have, _should have_ said what was in her heart but held back.

 _Enough is enough._

She wipes away her tears. "Maybe you don't need the words. But whether you do or don't isn't really the point. The point is that you, Chuck Bartowski, _deserve_ to hear them from me."

Sarah steps in closer, stands on her tiptoes and, taking his face in her hands, earnestly says, "I love you, Chuck Bartowski. Always have and always will. And when this is all over, I promise that the whole world is going to know how I feel about you." She gently kisses him.

"And I further promise that no one is going to keep us apart. You got that, sweetie?"

He just nods.

"OK, then. You get to bed. You're going to need your strength. I'll tell everyone that you're in good spirits and that you love them."

At his raised eyebrow, she amends her words. "Well, maybe not Casey. I'll find a way to rephrase that last part."

He chuckles lightly at that.

Giving his hand a squeeze, she says, "We'll be seeing you soon. Oh, and by the way," she gestures to her own mouth, "you might want to take care of that whole lipstick thing yourself."

"I will. I have to tell you, Sarah, that this whole kissing thing tonight, while really, really nice has also kinda weirded me out. It almost feels like I'm cheating on you."

She raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I don't recall ever having a fantasy about kissing an older woman, unless you count Donna in ninth grade and she was only three months older than me. But here I'm not only dealing with that scenario, but also the whole stereotypical caring-nurse/grateful-patient thing as well."

Sarah blushes, suddenly realizing what Chuck is talking about. "I'd forgotten who I look like."

"It's OK. But I suspect I'm going to have some pretty unusual dreams tonight."

When she glowers at him, he quickly adds, "Only about you, Sarah. Only you."

She nods. "As long as we're clear on that."

Smirking, he says, "However, in order to prevent any potentially embarrassing situations, could you please ask Karen to make sure she identifies herself when she comes on shift tonight. I don't think I could be held responsible for my actions if I thought it was you coming through the door."

She rolls her eyes. "Smart ass."

He grins for an instant before becoming serious once again. "Sarah, please promise me you'll be safe. It makes me feel sick to think that any of you might get hurt trying to rescue me. Promise me you'll be careful."

"Don't worry, sweetie. I won't say that nobody is going to get hurt, but you have my word that it won't be any of the people who love you." She turns to leave, but before she can, he gently takes her arm.

"Hold on. Before you go, I'm thinking I need a little more reassurance from you. You know, about who I really am and who you really are. The whole 'what is truth' thing. That kind of stuff."

Skeptically, she asks, "Oh? And how, exactly, would I go about doing that?"

He ducks his head a bit. "I was kinda thinking that one more kiss oughta do it. You know, at least for now."

She looks at him with mock exasperation. "Oh, alright. If it'll make you feel better. But I'll have you know that I'm doing this just for you. I just hope all this kissing stuff isn't going to become a recurring theme."

He grins. "I hate to disappoint you, but I think it very likely will."

She can't hold back her smile as she reaches up to take his head in her hands and give him a quick kiss. He tries to put his arms around her but she quickly backs away, laughing quietly.

"No time for that, mister. I really have to go. Goodnight, sweetie."

"Goodnight, Sarah."

She walks to the door, and just before opening it, she turns and says, just loud enough for him to hear, "Chuck."

"Yes?"

"Save you later."

…

"General, I've been instructed to inform you that neither Agent Walker nor Major Casey have checked in for their reassignments. Both have been officially flagged as being absent without permission."

"Thank you, Clarissa. Do we have any indications as to their current whereabouts?"

"No, Ma'am. The appropriate departments have tried contacting them through the usual channels, but have had no response. The department chiefs instructed me to tell you that all active security personnel have been alerted to be on the lookout for them. They were optimistic that they'll have some information within the next few hours."

"Thank you. That'll be all. It's late, you should head home."

"Not necessary, Ma'am. I'm quite willing to stay as long as the General is in her office."

Diane Beckman, gratified, as always, by the work ethic of her personal assistant, shakes her head. "No, Clarissa. I'll be fine. I'm going to stay just a while longer. I'll see you in the morning."

"Very good, Ma'am. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

As her office door softly closes, Beckman turns her chair to look out over the mostly darkened city. Diane has come to appreciate her view of D.C. at night, especially this late. The city somehow feels less threatening, more innocent when cloaked by darkness. Picking up the glass on the edge of her desk, she takes a sip, feeling the scotch burn her throat a little as it goes down.

Diane hadn't had the heart to tell Clarissa that, if Walker and the Major have gone off the grid, (as she fully believes they have) the only way they are going to be found is if they allow themselves to be found. Both are far too good at this sort of thing to let some bumbling security officer track them down.

Beckman hadn't really expected that either of them would show up for their new assignments, so Clarissa's news was unsurprising. She had _briefly_ entertained the thought that Major Casey might, out of his loyalty to her, obey orders, but never, not even for a second, had she thought that Agent Walker would do so.

It had become apparent, quite some time ago, that Agent Walker would defy anyone and everyone when it came to the matter of Mr. Bartowski's safety. Diane had come to understand that her fierce protectiveness no longer came from her sense of duty, but rather due to the deep personal attachment she'd formed with the man. To what degree Agent Walker had compromised herself, Diane is uncertain, but compromised herself she has. The General knows she should have reassigned the agent the moment she saw what was happening, but the team's successes had been such that Diane had decided to turn a blind eye.

When the Intersect had started to deteriorate, Diane had reluctantly agreed to the removal procedure, realizing that if they didn't do something Mr. Bartowski would either die or, at best, be severely brain damaged. In either case, the man would be of no further use to her. And, despite their best efforts, her scientists had never come up with anyone else capable of handling the burden of the Intersect. She needed him.

Therefore, she'd authorized the removal, but at the same time had implemented one of the many contingency plans that had been developed to deal with possible Intersect scenarios.

There was a kernel of truth in some of the many lies that Chuck had been told yesterday. Summer Crest actually did exist, but it wasn't hypothetical. It was a carefully hidden, active, ongoing project designed to do pretty much what they told him: allow them to download a complete, created persona into the subject's mind, overriding the person's actual identity. It hadn't been fully tested, but her experts thought it had a good chance to succeed.

Thereafter the ideal result would have been the man waking up, believing he actually was Charles Carmichael, a person who had no memory of his real life. A person determined to download the Intersect as penance for the damage that had been done under the project he'd headed. After he'd willingly downloaded the latest Intersect version, they would have then whisked him away to that NSA facility in Wyoming, a place obscure enough that none who knew him would ever accidentally run across him. An unfortunate fire in the hospital, a body burnt beyond recognition would explain his disappearance.

Her people had suggested that this version would be much less likely to damage the host's mind. When she pushed them on this, they'd reluctantly admitted that the chances were no better than 50/50 that this version would be safe.

Still, it was enough for her to give the go ahead. A few more battles won, a few more terrorist groups put out of action, another bomb plot foiled, any one of those things accomplished because they had a functioning Intersect was enough in Diane's mind to make the sacrifice of one man worthwhile.

Contrary to what many thought General Beckman didn't have a heart of stone. She'd actually hoped that when he'd settled in up there in Caspar, he'd find happiness, perhaps someone to love again, now that Sarah would no longer exist to him. She'd also empathized with the kind of grief that those who cared for him would undergo, thinking him dead. Even so, those feelings would not hinder her from doing her duty.

However, things had turned out to be far from ideal. When Mr. Bartowski had lapsed into a coma after the procedure, Beckman had thought the inclusion of Summer Crest in the removal procedure was most likely to blame. Or it may have simply been that they'd been too late in removing the Intersect, that the damage had already been done. Either way, all her experts had said he would probably never wake again.

Accepting defeat, she'd seen no good reason to prevent his family and friends from visiting, giving them the chance to make their farewells.

So she'd put Chuck Bartowski out of her mind, moved on to other pressing matters. That was until she'd been informed that, against all the odds, he'd actually woken from his coma. She'd rushed to the hospital, anxious to find out if their plan had worked, only to find out that the first word he'd uttered was the name of a person who didn't exist in the life of Charles Carmichael.

She'd been very disappointed by their apparent failure, but, never being one to take defeat lying down, she'd immediately racked her brain, trying to come up with some way of salvaging something out the mess. She'd thought that, if by some chance, at least some of the implanted memories had lodged in his brain, it might still be possible to convince him that he actually was Carmichael, not Bartowski. It'd been worth a try, in any case.

Of course, this would only work if she could prevent him from having any contact with "Team Bartowski". To accomplish this, she'd concocted a series of medical and security related issues that had succeeded, surprisingly, in keeping them from his side.

But now, it seems that the jig is up. Walker and Casey obviously no longer believed her stories. And by going off grid (and almost certainly taking the Woodcombs and Grimes with them), they've sent a signal that they're about to take matters into their own hands.

Diane shivers a little as she thinks about what their plans might entail. She knows their service records intimately, knows what they're capable of, and how efficient they are at accomplishing their goals. To think that they might now, in some way or other, be coming after her sends a definite chill down her spine.

Hopefully, Bartowski will agree to the download, thus enabling her to present them with a fait accompli, one which she hopes will defuse the situation.

But then a little voice reminds her that if the download actually winds up damaging Bartowski in some way, they'll be even more reason for them to go after her. And with considerably less restraint.

She looks out her window again, now wondering what threats the darkness might be concealing. And even though she expects she's seriously overreacting, General Diane Beckman is suddenly very grateful she spends so much of her life behind bulletproof glass.

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: If I had Sarah and Casey after me, I think I'd find the nearest bunker and hunker down. For a very long time. We'll just have to wait and see what happens._


	10. Chapter 6 Carmichael

_A/N: Our favorite nurse makes an reappearance and we finally learn the answer to an important question._

 _Thank you all for following along. I really enjoy hearing from everyone that has reviewed so far. Even picked up an idea or two from the comments. Feel free to join in, if you're so inclined._

Thanks to my stalwart beta, micahelfmx. Any errors you see are my responsibility.

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 _"Thank you." Looking around the table, he realizes how much he wants to know these people better. But he knows he won't really be able to do that until he better knows himself._

 _So, gripping Rachel's hand tightly, he asks, "Tell me about Charles Carmichael."_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 6 Carmichael**

All three of them look momentarily puzzled by his request.

Rachel responds first. "What do you mean exactly? About his life before Omaha? None of us knew you then, so there isn't much we could tell you that isn't in the official records."

"No. I'm sorry, I should've been clearer. I guess what I would like to know is how I was different from, or similar to, the way I am now. You know, while we worked together."

Rachel ponders his request. "OK. We'll do our best, right guys?" Both Eric and James nod in response. Almost to herself, she mumbles, "Where to start? Where to start?"

"How about your first impressions? I remember meeting you guys for the first time and how I felt. It would be enlightening to hear what you thought about me then."

Rachel, unsurprisingly, is the first to take up the gauntlet. "Chuck, I could tell right from our first meeting that you were shy, … and a little uncomfortable around attractive women."

Eric jumps in. "Blowing your own horn there much, babe?"

Grinning, she directs a good natured, "Shut up!" Eric's way.

Smiling, she turns back to Chuck, says, "Please ignore the comments from my soon-to-be ex-husband. I mentioned that because, after we got to know each other better, you told me outright how, and I quote," she glares momentarily at Devon, "'beautiful women', unquote, tended to make you feel uneasy and kinda clumsy."

"I still feel that way sometimes, so I guess things haven't changed too much," is Chucks reply.

James speaks up, almost gleefully, "Trust me, Chuck, you were much worse back then. You should've seen it. You kept running into walls and tripping over your own feet after Sa—"

"James! I thought we talked about that," Rachel sternly admonishes.

Embarrassed, he mumbles, "Sorry, Chuck. I meant after _she_ joined the team."

Chuck replies, "Don't worry about it. Before we go much further guys, I've got an idea. How about we all just call her Sarah for now? It'll save you from having to worry about giving her real name away, which I assume is the whole point to just calling her 'she' all the time."

All three look a little relieved, nodding their heads.

"OK, so you say I was even shyer and clumsier back then. Good to know. What else?"

James pipes up again, "Well, when I first met you, I could tell you were a bit of a loner, not as comfortable with people as you are now."

Curious, Chuck inquires, "How did you figure that out, buddy?"

"The day we met was a bit of a dead giveaway. You kinda stood out, sitting off in a corner, all by yourself in a room with probably two hundred people in it. Saw you playing on your PSP and sensed a kindred spirit. So I made a point of going over to see you."

"You did that for me? It wasn't just chance?" Chuck asks, genuinely moved.

"Well, it kinda looked like you could use a friend."

"You were right. Thanks for stepping up."

Chuck turns to Eric. "Your turn."

"You weren't very self-confident back then, Chuck."

"You mean in some area other than women and people in general?"

"Yes. You were the head of a major project, but you came to me and told me you weren't sure if you could set the lead properly. I wasn't sure why you came to me for advice."

Chuck grins. "Eric, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Male model looks. Accomplished doctor. Self-assured. Of course, it would've been silly of me to go to a person like that for advice on how to develop more self-confidence."

"Oh! I see your point. I guess that's something I've never had much trouble with."

"Well, duh!"

After the laughter dies down, Chuck sums up, grinning. "So, I was a shy, clumsy, timid loner back then. Why did you guys even like me at all?"

Rachel replies, "Because you were also hard-working, kind, respectful, patient, funny, intelligent, and loyal.

"And once we got to know you and see those qualities, you were easy to love," she adds, squeezing his hand.

Unable to speak, Chuck can only nod his thanks.

After a few seconds, he clears his throat and asks, "Anything else you'd like to tell me about me?"

…

Chuck enters his darkened room, lost in thought about what he's learned today. So much so that he doesn't at first notice the silhouette of the tall man outlined by the faint light coming in through the window. Startled, he gropes for the light switch. But, even as he flicks it on, he realizes he doesn't need the light to recognize who it is.

Casey.

And, as the man turns to face him, the memory is right there.

…

 _The older man sitting across the desk from him is big, muscular. He has a slight scowl on his face which Chuck feels, for some reason or other, is likely a more or less permanent fixture._

" _Mister Coburn—"_

" _Major."_

" _Excuse me?"_

" _It's Major Coburn, not mister." The words are curt, spoken in a way that clearly shows he'll brook no nonsense on this point._

" _My apologies, Major. I haven't had the chance to read your dossier yet. All I was told was your name. I guess, for some reason, they forgot to mention the rank."_

 _The man just grunts._

" _So, Major Alex Coburn, why did you volunteer to join the project?"_

 _He gives Chuck a pitying look. "I didn't. The first thing you learn in the military is to be very careful about what you volunteer for. I've been behind a desk since an IED in Afghanistan tore a chunk out of my ass. When your project came up, the powers that be decided I would be a good fit." He snarls. "Personally, I think they just didn't want me around the office anymore."_

 _Recognizing the man's prickly nature, Chuck silently agrees with that assessment._

" _I understand that you'll be the liaison between me and the various branches of the NSA. Is that correct?"_

 _The Major nods curtly. "They also told me you needed a weapons specialist."_

" _Yes, we'll definitely be needing your expertise. You'll also be providing security."_

" _Yes."_

 _Chuck stands and offers his hand. "In that case, welcome to Project Omaha, Major."_

 _The man somewhat gingerly rises from his chair, grudgingly shakes Chuck's hand._

 _Gruffly, he says, "I'll tell you right now that I'm only staying until this damn thing heals. In three months I'll be back out in the field. You good with that?"_

 _Thinking that three months is probably all he'll be able to stand of this irascible man, he replies, "That won't be problem, Major. We'll take what we can get."_

…

Well aware of Casey's aversion to close physical contact, Chuck can't help but wonder if Alex Coburn feels the same. So, after closing the distance between them, he somewhat tentatively offers his hand. However, to his surprise, the man ignores it and instead moves in to give him a brief, but almost bone-crushing hug.

Stepping back, he says, "Chuck, it's good to see you up on your feet again. Wasn't sure you were gonna pull outta this one." The smile that accompanies the words is almost as disconcerting as the action that proceeded them.

Taken aback, it's a few seconds before he responds. "Thank you…Alex," wrapping his tongue around yet another unfamiliar name.

"Little different than you remember, I'll wager?"

"Yeah, it sure is. I just flashed back to the first time we met. You weren't quite as friendly then."

Chuckling, Alex replies, "Yeah, wasn't having a particularly good day. Hated being behind a desk and had that literal pain in the ass. Then they shuffled me off into what I firmly believed was going to be some idiotic dead-end project dreamt up by some moronic tech-geek college-boy. No offense."

"None taken."

Alex shrugs. "If I had to guess, I'd say that meeting set at least part of the pattern for John Casey's personality."

"Probably, but I'm a little confused. Are you implying that day was just an anomaly, that you and Casey aren't very much alike?"

"No, no. Not saying that at all. We're a lot alike, it's just that you made him a little more Gung-ho about everything." He pauses. "I will tell you that I'm not normally a hugger, though. So I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread this around."

"No problem. We'll keep it between us." Looking towards the table, he asks, "Do you want to sit?"

"Sure, sounds good." Alex slips a hip flask out of his pocket. "Got some good booze here. Think you could dig up a couple of glasses?"

Chuck gestures towards the window. "On the table." They walk over and sit, facing each other. Alex pours a couple of fingers into a glass and pushes it Chuck's way.

Looking at the amber liquid, Chuck is puzzled. "Do I like Scotch?"

Alex gives him a look for a few seconds, before nodding and responding, "Charles Carmichael didn't mind sharing a wee dram from time to time. Gave us chance to catch up on the Project. Or the occasional personal issue."

He's a little incredulous. "Personal issues? You're serious?"

"Don't worry, nothing too touchy-feely. Mostly about you feeling inferior to all those CIA James Bond wannabes strutting around the hallways. You know, the ones with fancy suits who thought every woman in the place was just waiting to fall into their arms."

"I worried about that?"

"Yeah, you had your reasons. Until I kicked your butt enough times to make you see you were better than any three of them put together."

While he can't remember any of it, he nonetheless still feels a surge of appreciation towards the man, which triggers him to recall Beckman's earlier words.

"Cas…Alex, the General told me what you did for me, how you took a bullet the night I downloaded the Intersect. I gather I never thanked you for that. So here's my belated 'Thank you.'"

Alex waves it off. "Don't worry, it was worth it. Smarmy bastard got what he deserved for pulling on me. Finding out he was a murderous traitor was just icing on the cake."

Chuck grins. "No trouble hearing Casey right there."

Alex, grinning ruefully, replies, "Yeah, I guess you're right about that."

"I have to ask a question. I remember you saying that you'd only stay on the project until your…posterior healed. How come you wound up staying around?"

"Well, it didn't take me too long to see how Omaha could be a real game changer. If I could pass on my expertise to other soldiers through it, I'd wind up doing a lot more good than I could one-on-one."

"Fair enough. But why did you stay after everything went down the tubes?"

The big man looks uneasy, squirming in his seat a little.

It's a full five seconds before he answers. "Kinda got used to being part of the group, I guess."

Not wanting to cause the man further discomfort, Chuck relents. "Yes, I gather from what I've been told that we all got along pretty well."

"Yeah, we did. Besides, if I wasn't there, you would've got into more trouble than you already did."

"No doubt." He pauses. "Alex, thank you for taking such good care of me."

"Just part of the job."

Chuck doesn't call him on that, instead, raises his glass and, after taking a sip, says, "And thanks for the Scotch. I do like it."

"You'd better. I don't break out the old stuff every day."

They sip their drinks for a minute or two, a companionable silence between them.

Looking down into his glass, Chuck asks, quietly, "Alex, unless I miss my guess, you didn't come here just to drink with an old friend, did you?"

The man shakes his head. "No."

"And you're not here to commiserate with me about the loss of my old life, right?"

"No. I leave that kinda stuff to the others. They'd do a better job than me in any case."

"So, why?"

He hesitates. "I heard that she's coming to visit you soon. That right?"

Chuck, while a little surprised by the conversation's sudden change in direction, has no doubt which "she" is being referred to. Obviously, Alex hasn't been read in on the little agreement he made with the others, so simply nods. "Rachel said she might come tomorrow. But it's up to her. Why?"

He finds it amazing that he can say the words so calmly, almost as is her visit is of little consequence, while, in truth, he's increasingly apprehensive of what the day might bring.

Apparently, none of this internal conflict has risen to the surface, for Alex simply responds to his question. "I'm just asking you to take it easy on her when she comes to see you. She's been going through a special kind of hell ever since that damned thing got pushed into your brain."

Chuck can't keep the note of frustration from his voice. "I keep getting that impression, but no one will tell me why."

"I know. She made us promise. And once you talk to her you'll understand why. I've probably gone too far even saying what I did. Just promise me you'll give her a chance to explain without judging her. Just listen, OK?"

Chuck's a little offended by Alex's implication that he might be harsh or impatient with Sarah, but quickly brushes it aside as he hears the pleading note in the man's voice and sees the expression of concern on his face.

"Yes, Alex. That's always been my intention in any case."

The Major averts his eyes. "Yeah, sorry. It's just that she's not talking to any of us right now."

"I thought she was with you guys. Was I wrong?"

Alex shakes his head. "She was, pretty much the whole time until you woke up. But since then she's withdrawn, cut herself off from the rest of us."

 _Probably with her husband. Or, at the very least, trying to figure out how she's going to tell me about him._

Alex then says quietly, "I'm worried about her."

Chuck can sense how difficult it is for Alex to express what Casey would certainly term "lady feelings", so, even while his own heart is filled with trepidation, he puts on a front and reassures Alex earnestly. "Don't worry. I promise that I'll do my very best."

 _Not that it'll likely do me any good._

"I know you will." He glances at his watch and stands. "Think it's time for me to get out of here. Nurse Green's scheduled to be in a bit and I don't want her to catch me plying you with alcohol." Pointing towards their glasses, he remarks, "You better rinse these out before she shows up."

"I'll take care of it." Standing he offers his hand, which Alex takes this time. "Thanks for coming tonight, Alex. I'm looking forward to getting to know you. Again."

"Sounds good." He hesitates for a moment before asking, somewhat diffidently, "Do you happen to know if Kar…Nurse Green is seeing anyone?"

"No, not as far as I know. Why do you ask?"

"Well, she's worked really hard to take care of you and I thought I might take her to dinner as a sort of thank you. Just didn't want things to be awkward if she had a boyfriend or something." He quickly adds, "Not like it's a date or anything."

For a moment Chuck is tempted to tease the man, but wisely refrains. "No, I'm sure she'd understand that. You'll have to ask her yourself, but I think she'll probably say yes."

Alex stands a little straighter. "OK. I might just do that. Goodnight, Chuck. See you later."

"Thanks, Alex. Goodnight."

…

It seems that the Major's estimation of Karen's arrival time was a bit off, for, after rinsing out the glasses, he finds himself still the sole occupant of the room.

Dimming the lights, he sits down and stares out the window, his mind going a thousand miles an hour. Alone for the first time since this morning, he suddenly feels the panic that's been there all day, just below the surface, waiting for the chance to overwhelm him. He tries to quell it, but the truth is that going on from here terrifies him. He takes some deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. It helps a little.

 _OK, OK. I need to sort this out, look at it logically. Maybe that'll help._

 _What are the facts?_

 _Top of the list, you're Charles Carmichael, not Bartowski._

 _You remember virtually nothing about Carmichael's life._

 _None of the people you met today, the ones you thought you knew, are whom you believed them to be._

 _The life you remember having is basically a complete fiction._

 _You have no way of knowing which events of the last three years are real or imagined._

 _Oh, and to top it all off, you have no idea if the woman you believe that you love, does, in fact, love you in return._

 _Or if she is even free to do so._

 _Or who she really is._

 _Or even what her real name is._

He laughs, mirthlessly. _Gee, I feel much better now._

His bleak introspection is interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of his favorite nurse.

Looking around the room, she comments, "Little gloomy in here, Chuck. You doing OK?"

"I'm trying, Karen, but it's been quite the day." He winces a bit at what must be high on the list of all-time massive understatements.

She walks over to where he sits, his gaze once again directed to the darkness outside. Quietly, she asks, "Hey, you want to talk about it?"

His initial inclination is to decline her offer, concerned about revealing too much, both personally and professionally. But, when he glances up into her face and sees the empathetic concern it displays, his resolution crumbles.

"Yeah, Karen, I'd like that. Would you like to sit?"

Nodding, she places herself across the table from him.

He gathers his thoughts for a few moments, then says, "Karen, I can't tell you everything. A lot of it is TS/SCI, that is Top Secret—"

"—Sensitive Compartmented Information," she finishes for him. "I'm familiar with the term."

"Sorry, Karen. I hope I didn't sound condescending."

"No, no. I just wanted you to know that I know what it means and the implications of revealing that kind of information."

Relieved, he replies, "Oh, OK. I suppose you hear a lot of stuff working here."

"Yes, but you learn to ignore it."

"Yeah, I guess you'd have to."

She nods. "So, you were saying—"

"Right. OK, to make a long story at least a little shorter, I had a sort of mental breakdown three years ago. Since that time I've believed that I'm a man named Chuck Bartowski, born and raised in Burbank. I remember my life, my friends and family and how, through a set of unusual circumstances beyond my control, I came to be an important government asset. However, none of that is actual fact. I found out today that my real name is Charles Carmichael, although I go by Chuck. I voluntarily came to work for the government, the NSA specifically. I remember pretty much nothing of Charles' life or of the people I knew and loved in that life."

"OK, I think I understand," Karen replies calmly, her expression neutral.

He's surprised. "I would've thought you'd be at least a little shocked."

She chuckles, a little embarrassed. "Sorry about that. What you just saw was my 'Professional Nurse Persona'. I've had to listen to a lot of weird stuff over the years and it's important to the patient that we don't display our disbelief. It's easy to slip into that mode without even thinking.

"Truth is, I'm having trouble trying to wrap my mind around what you just told me. So, let me make sure I've got this right. Right up to until today, you never had even an inkling about any of this?"

"Nope. Never did." He pauses, then says thoughtfully, "Though I did choose Charles Carmichael as my cover name after I became an agent. In retrospect, I guess that must have meant something."

"Probably. So how did you wind up here, all the way from California? Surely there are lots of other hospitals that you could've gone to."

"Ah! That has to do with what happened to me those three years ago. I can't go into details, but back then I acquired…an ability. I am, or should say, was, able to retain large amounts of actionable intel and recall it under the proper circumstances. But it put a huge amount of pressure on my brain. That's when I had the breakdown I mentioned. Apparently, the whole Chuck Bartowski thing was my brain's way of protecting itself, allowing me to cope."

"Gotcha. I've seen something similar before, although certainly not to that degree. So what happened to bring you here?"

"My mind began to deteriorate, and they recognized that ability I mentioned was the cause. It was only here that they had the skills needed to try and remove it. When they did, it was hoped Charles Carmichael's memories would return."

Karen snorts. "Well, it's pretty obvious that didn't work."

"You've got that right."

Karen's silent for a few seconds.

"So let me ask you, Chuck. The people who visited you, are they from Charles' or Chuck's world?"

He's not surprised by Karen's insightful question.

"Both."

Puzzled, she replies, "I'm not sure I understand."

"Rachel, Eric, James and Alex were all part of my team at the NSA. We worked on a long term project together. Sorry, I forgot. Have you officially met Alex yet?"

Her voice is stern. "Yes, Major Coburn and I had a little discussion in the hallway after I caught him sneaking out of your room. I could smell the alcohol on his breath and I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that he'd been in here drinking with you. I strongly suggested that he not attempt that again. Oddly enough, after he apologized, he proceeded to ask me if I would go to dinner with him, as sort of a thank you for taking care of you."

Chuck holds back his grin, asks as seriously as he can, "What did you say?"

"I said I'd think about it, but only if he promised to obey the rules."

"He's a good man. Kinda gruff, but a good heart."

"You know him well?"

"Yes and no."

She raises a dubious, inquiring eyebrow, right at that moment reminding him so much of Sarah that he feels his heart falter for a second.

He has to clear his throat before answering. "I'm not being a smart ass. It's because I don't _really_ know any of the people you've met today. Who I _do_ know are the people they became _after_ I started living as Chuck Bartowski. Everyone on my team volunteered to accompany me to Burbank, then took on roles in the life I'd made up, the one I lived while there. They came along to care for me, to protect me and work with me.

"Rachel and Eric, became Ellie and Devon, my sister and her fiancé. I lived with them the whole time. James became Morgan, my best friend since childhood. And Alex, well he was Major John Casey of the NSA."

"Are you telling me that they actually managed to pull that off?"

"Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but they did. And it's in those roles that my mind still persists in seeing them, despite the fact I've been given the opportunity to start reacquainting myself with the real people."

"Were they quite different back in Burbank?"

"No, I'd been told that I used their basic personalities to form the characters I imagined. And from what I've seen and heard today, that's true."

"So they know about your lives, both Charles's and Chuck's, but you only know the fake people and their fake lives, so to speak?"

"That about sums it up. I've had brief memory flashes of meeting them, but that's about all. I have only the vaguest idea of the kind of relationships we actually had, or have, and no real idea of how we got there in the first place."

She drily comments. "I imagine that would be rather disconcerting."

He grins, a little ruefully. "Yeah, well, you should see it from my side."

Karen softly chuckles for a moment, but then, in a more serious tone, asks, "Chuck, I notice you haven't mentioned Sarah during this whole conversation. She hasn't visited, has she?"

He shakes his head.

"Is there some sort of problem?"

He's not sure how to answer that, or for that matter, if he even wants to.

Apparently sensing his reluctance, Karen quietly adds, "Hey, that's OK, Chuck. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

He hesitates, but once again the nurse's kindness sways him.

"Karen, remember on that first day when I told you that Sarah and I just couldn't seem to make that final connection?"

She nods. "Yes, I do."

"Well, looking back, I think I've figured out why."

The nurse doesn't reply, just waits for him to go on.

He takes a deep breath. "I think she's married."

This time Karen can't hold in her incredulity. "What?! Chuck, where did you come up with a crazy idea like that?"

"Just listen to me, please. It makes so much sense. She always avoided making any sort of commitment to our relationship. She constantly shied away from any conversation about us having a future together. We came close to making that physical connection once or twice, but something or someone always seemed to interfere. And then after, when I tried to bring up the subject, she wouldn't discuss it, simply said it was for the best that things didn't go that far."

"Chuck, there could be lots of other reasons for her to act that way. Maybe she got burned in a bad relationship and is afraid to commit herself again."

"Don't think so. Everybody keeps hinting or telling me outright, that she's gone through, as Alex put it, 'a special kind of hell' ever since this whole Bartowski thing started. I believe that's because she's had to play being my girlfriend for three years while being married to another man."

"Chuck, you're way off. That woman is crazy about you. I've seen it with my own eyes. While you were in your coma, she came every night and talked to you for hours. It didn't take a genius to see how she felt."

For a moment, he feels hope welling up in his heart, but then he firmly and ruthlessly pushes it aside, knowing it will only make the inevitable rejection that much more devastating.

"I not trying to say she doesn't care about me. Hell, for all I know, maybe she did fall in love with me at some point. But that still doesn't prove she isn't married. What I'm trying to say is that she loves her husband too, and wasn't willing to throw that away for me, even though she was tempted."

"No, Chuck I don't think—"

He cuts her off. "Karen, you have to admit it's at least a possibility."

She shakes her head. "No. That isn't the vibe I got from her. That woman wants to spend the rest of her life with you. I know it."

"Then why hasn't she visited me?"

The nurse opens her mouth, but no words come.

"See what I mean. I keep being told that her load was the hardest one to bear. That she'll have to be the one to tell me what's going on. That I'll need to be patient with her, give her the chance to explain herself to me. It all makes sense."

Karen's response is weak. "There could be other reasons."

"It's possible, but I doubt it."

"Chuck, you need to ask her yourself. All this is just supposition."

"And I will ask her, Karen. But I can't do that until she decides to come and see me. And I have no idea when she'll do that. Rachel said it might be tomorrow, but left me with the impression that could change. What if she refuses to come at all? Don't you think that would prove I'm right?"

"I don't know, Chuck. I really don't." She pauses, takes a close look at him. "What I do know is that you need to sleep. You look exhausted, which, given your day, is quite understandable"

He yawns. "You're right. I am tired."

"Do you want me to get something to help you rest?"

"Thanks, I think that's a good idea."

"OK, I'll bring you something mild."

She stands, then says, "Chuck, there's no point in worrying about this any further. Hopefully, by tomorrow, you'll have your answers. I know it won't be easy, but please try and put it out of your mind until then."

"I'll try, Karen. Thank you for listening."

"You're welcome."

As she reaches the door, she turns her head his way, quietly says, "Chuck?'

"Yes, Karen?"

"Just give her a chance to explain. Don't go into the whole mess angry, already convinced that she's wronged you somehow. If you do, you might wind up pushing away the best thing in your life."

"I'll try."

"Promise?"

"Yes, Karen, I promise."

…

Even with the aid of the sleeping pills, his sleep is fitful. He tosses and turns, and even though he does his best to prevent it, his mind races, reviewing over and over the events of the day.

And thinking about how (or whether) he'll get through today if it turns out he's right about what's going on with her.

By 6 a.m., he gives it up. Rising, he dresses himself and grabs his coat. Exiting his room, Chuck sees the surprise on the face of the young guard stationed by his door.

"Just going up to the roof for a while. Will you please tell the charge nurse?"

"Yes, sir. I'll need to accompany you."

He frowns. "I'd like some privacy."

"No problem, sir. I'll stay inside near the elevator."

"Thank you."

A few minutes later Chuck steps out onto the roof deck, discovers it to be softly lit by twinkle lights woven through the trees. They hadn't been on the night before and he idly wonders if someone set the timer wrong. He wanders aimlessly for a few minutes, but eventually finds himself drawn to the secluded corner he'd noticed the previous afternoon.

The fountain, almost hidden by the trees that surround it, has an aching familiarity, and he wonders why he's torturing himself by sitting on the concrete bench that encircles it. He stares out into space, the water in the fountain chuckling and burbling behind him, a flood of memories threatening to overwhelm his defenses.

In the end, it's her scent that first alerts him to her presence. A vagary of the breeze picks it up, wafts it his way. Standing, he turns, his heart in his throat.

She's there, standing only a few feet away from him, an unreadable expression on her face.

He tries to fight off the memory, dreading what it might reveal.

But it's to no avail.

…

 _Chuck barely has time to sit behind his desk, before the intercom buzzes._

 _He'd come in through the side door, hoping to evade the attention of his extremely efficient, but rather intimidating PA._

 _No such luck._

 _Pushing the button, he answers, "Yes, Mildred?_

" _The agent from the CIA has arrived, sir."_

" _Which one is that?"_

" _The one assigned as the liaison, sir."_

 _"Yes. Yes." He looks around his desk. "Did you give me the dossier yet?"_

 _He has no trouble detecting the patient exasperation in her voice. It's something he's grown accustomed to over the last couple of weeks._

" _It's on your desk, sir. I left it there last night, as requested."_

 _He searches around, moving papers until he finally finds it under a circuit diagram schematic._

" _Got it."_

 _Chuck glances at the name. While the last name is a bit of a mouthful, the first is short and sweet, followed by an initial. Nothing pretentious sounding about it, unlike the name of that smugly arrogant jerk he'd had the misfortune to meet yesterday._

 _What was it again? Bryce Larkin. Sounded like something straight out of a soap opera._

 _Chuck really hopes this one isn't like Larkin or any of those other CIA agents he runs into from time to time, dressed in their fancy suits, oozing confidence. Or course, it could be even worse. He could turn out to be a carbon copy of Major Coburn._

 _Chuck shudders at the thought._

" _OK, Mildred, send him in."_

" _Sir, it's not a—"_

 _He doesn't hear the rest of her sentence as he distractedly disconnects, his mind already on the upcoming interview for which he's rather unprepared. That problem with the secondary RAID had consumed both his and James' whole morning. In fact, his friend was still working away when Chuck had to leave._

 _Just as his office door begins to open, his Blackberry pings, signifying an incoming text. He looks down and sees the brief message, "I've confronted the evil forces of the Dark Side that've been attacking our RAID and vanquished them."_

 _Chuckling at his friend's use of Star Wars references, while at the same time relieved that issue has been addressed, Chuck fails to realize there's someone standing right in front of him until a subtle, citrusy feminine scent drifts his way._

 _Startled, he looks up from his phone, which he then promptly drops to the ground._

 _For right there, only a few feet away, is one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen._

 _Scratch that._

 _Not one of._

 _The._

 _Tearing his gaze away from her gorgeous blue eyes, he notices how tall she is. In her heels (he assumes, as he can't see her feet right now), she appears to be only a few inches shorter than him. The black business suit, while conservative, does nothing to mask her innate attractiveness. Her blonde hair is in a tight bun, held in place by two chopsticks, which, for a second, he has this insane urge to reach over and pull out, just so he could see what her hair would look like as it flowed around her shoulders._

 _He's practically stunned stupid, so blames that for his seeming inability to control his mouth._

 _"You're a woman!"_

 _Chuck may be wrong, but he thinks he can see a flicker of amusement in her eyes. However, her tone is exceedingly dry as she replies, "Yes. Have been for quite some time now."_

 _There's definitely no mistaking the slight coolness in her next words. "Is that a problem?"_

 _Lurching to his feet, he stammers, blushing, "No, not...not a problem, at all. It's just that..."_

 _He points to the unopened file sitting on the desk, helplessly unable to articulate his reasoning._

 _She glances down before looking him in the eye once more. "Ah! I understand now."_

 _There's only the tiniest hint of a grin, but it nonetheless sends a thrill through him. "It appears that someone hasn't been keeping up with his reading. My dossier would have made everything clear, Agent Carmichael."_

 _Instead of apologizing (as he should) for his gaffe, he blurts out, "You can call me Chuck._

 _She quirks an eyebrow, and, for a second, it appears she's about to make a comment about that._

 _Instead, she offers her hand, saying, "Hello, Chuck. I'm Samantha Lisa Bartowski."_

 _She smiles. "But you can call me Sam."_

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: Bet you didn't see one that coming. What does it mean? Patience, all will be revealed next chapter._


	11. Chapter 6 Bartowski

_A/N: We're moving closer to a showdown._

 _Thanks so very much for reading and reviewing!_

Many, many thanks to my patient beta micahelfmx. Any errors you see are my fault.

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Enjoy!_

—-

 _She can't hold back her smile as she reaches up to take his head in her hands and give him a quick kiss. He tries to put his arms around her but she quickly backs away, laughing quietly._

" _No time for that, mister. I really have to go. Goodnight, sweetie."_

" _Goodnight, Sarah."_

 _She walks to the door, and just before opening it, she turns and says, just loud enough for him to hear, "Chuck."_

" _Yes?"_

" _Save you later."_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 6 Bartowski**

With the hospital safely in her rear view mirror, she finally has a few moments to contemplate the magnitude of the commitment she's just made to him. No, she hadn't made any promises, nor uttered any pledges, but, to Sarah, that which was implicit in those three little words is as solemn as the most profound vow could ever be.

After all, she's only said the words a handful of times in her life, almost always when a mark needed to hear them (therefore making them meaningless) before spilling his secrets. Only twice had she uttered them with any degree of honesty. Once to her father, who'd replied with a "Thank you, darlin'" before quickly returning to the plans for his latest con. The other time had been with Bryce after one particularly difficult mission, one where his actions had saved her from almost certain death. She'd spoken them quietly, almost shyly, when his back was turned. To this day, she doesn't know if he didn't hear or simply chose to ignore them. In any case, there'd been no response, and she hadn't done it again. She's often wondered where they'd be right now if he _had_ responded to what she knows now was a momentary lapse of judgement. Still the globe-trotting Andersons, gallivanting around the world while simultaneously saving it?

But, of course, that would've meant never meeting Chuck. Would've meant never knowing what it finally felt like to say those words and really mean them. Would've meant never knowing the deep, abiding joy she'd experienced from hearing those words said back to her with that same conviction.

She would've never known what it was like to actually be in love.

So, even though the uncertainty of their immediate future gives her pause and her own inadequacies scare her, she's absolutely convinced that Chuck Bartowski is her endgame.

On this subject, Sarah has no doubt whatsoever.

So, before Beckman tries something desperate, they'll have to figure out a way to get him out of there. As she pulls into the driveway, Sarah feels a small amount of pity for anyone who tries to stop them.

But only for a second or two.

…

As soon as she walks through the front door of Karen's house, she finds herself surrounded by her anxious friends.

"How is he?"

"Did he tell you what's going on?"

"How does—"

Holding both hands up, palms forward, she says, "Hold on a minute, guys. Let's sit down and I'll tell you what happened."

With a grumble or two, they all gather in the living room and sit down, eagerly facing Sarah.

"First of all, our suspicions were correct. Beckman is trying to convince Chuck that he's Charles Carmichael. That Chuck Bartowski doesn't really exist, that he's just a byproduct of the Intersect download."

Ellie asks, getting to the point quickly, "Did he believe them?"

"He told me he didn't at first, but admitted that Beckman was very kind and patient with him while she told him the story of Carmichael. He said that threw him for a bit of a loop. But the clincher came later."

Devon asks, "What was that?"

"Well, they told him that he, as Charles Carmichael, had created the Intersect."

"You've got to be kidding!"

"What?!"

"Why would he believe that?"

Sarah lets the uproar go on for a few seconds before holding her hands up once more. "Please be quiet for a second and I'll tell you."

They quiet down, with a few mumbled apologies.

"He said he wouldn't have believed that either, except for one thing. He had, what seemed to him, a crystal clear memory of meeting the General for the first time and her approving Project Omaha."

Morgan, with a smug look on his face, says, "See. I told you so. They did that 'Total Recall' thing on him."

Sarah just shakes her head tolerantly, amused by the man's antics.

Ellie nods. "So they did manage to implant at least _some_ false memories."

Sarah replies, "That's the only one he mentioned, but it's possible that there are others as well. However, that one was the cornerstone. Because he believed _that_ memory to be accurate, he was inclined to accept the rest of the story as well. And, as you'd surmised, Ellie, she told him we weren't who he thought we were, just strangers, each of us playing a part. She even managed to convince him that I was a married woman." Too late, Sarah realizes she probably shouldn't have mentioned that last part. Hopefully, no one will ask how she convinced Chuck otherwise.

No such luck.

Morgan jumps in. "Whoa! That must have just about killed him? How did you talk him out of that crazy idea?"

"I reasoned with him. Asked him if he believed, in his heart that I really was the kind of person who would cheat on someone I'd committed myself to." She keeps her voice intentionally unemotional, hoping no one will notice the faint blush that tinges her cheeks.

Again, no such luck.

Ellie, looking at Sarah curiously, asks, "Sarah, there was more to it than that, wasn't there?"

Sarah, trying to be evasive, replies, "I'm not sure what you mean. He was actually quite reasonable once we discussed the matter."

Everyone is looking at her as Ellie says, with a slightly stern note in her voice, "Sarah..."

Realizing, helplessly, that there's nothing for it, she capitulates. "Oh, alright. He was being foolishly stubborn, so I kissed him, hoping that would smarten him up."

There's a small squeal from Ellie, a huge grin from Karen, but only groans from the three men in the room. All three, pretty much simultaneously, reach for their wallets, each pulling a couple of bills out.

"Hand 'em over, boys," Ellie says gleefully.

Reluctantly, they all stand, then proceed to give both Ellie and Karen a ten dollar bill each.

Sarah, bewildered, asks, "What's going on here?"

Karen answers, "After you left for the hospital, we got into a discussion about whether you would kiss Chuck tonight. The boys thought there was no way that was going to happen. That, given the situation, Agent Walker would be all business. Ellie and I disagreed. So we made a little wager."

Smiling, Ellie says, "And thanks to Sarah, we're now both thirty dollars richer."

Casey grunts disappointedly, but then suddenly raises his hand. "Hold on. I just realized something. I don't believe you actually won."

"Excuse me, John. Are you saying that she _didn't_ kiss him?" Ellie asks.

"No, what I'm saying is that _Sarah_ didn't kiss him."

"Huh?"

Casey points to Sarah, still in nurse's scrubs. "I believe a case could be made that, technically, it was Karen who actually kissed Chuck, at least from his point of view. In my opinion, that means you lost the bet."

Morgan and Devon pipe up, supporting the Major.

"Yeah, man, the dude is right."

"I have to agree."

Sarah stands up, a little annoyed. "Hold on there, guys. That's not—"

Karen, also standing, interrupts her, looking thoughtful. "No, Sarah. I think we need to investigate this further. So, the question here is who did Chuck _believe_ he was kissing, right?"

The men nod.

Turning, she winks, making sure that only Sarah and Ellie can see it.

Karen then addresses Sarah, saying, very seriously, "I don't know if you're aware of just how strong the nurse/patient bond can be. I didn't tell you this earlier because I wanted to avoid upsetting you, but ever since Chuck woke up, there's been something growing between us. A definite attraction."

Ellie looks appropriately furious. "Are you trying to tell us there's something going on between you and Chuck? How could you do that? You're supposed to be a professional!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen. It just did."

The alarm in the men's expressions at this unexpected turn in the conversation is quite evident to Sarah, but she has no intention of letting them off easily. So, letting a few tears run down her cheeks, she chokingly asks, "Is…is he falling in love with you?"

"Yes, I believe he already has. After all, you didn't visit him after he woke up, so he felt abandoned. He also told me that things didn't seem to be working out between the two of you, that he felt he should move on."

Sarah stammers, "Are you saying that he…he only kissed me because he thought I was you?"

"Yes, Sarah, I am." Karen replies smugly, her arms crossed in front of her.

Ellie, rising from her chair, practically shouts at the nurse, "You hussy! Sarah and Chuck were meant for each other. How dare your stick your nose in his life?"

She shoves Karen out of her way, hastening over to Sarah, who by this time has her head in her hands, apparently weeping profusely. Ellie takes Sarah in her arms, trying to console the agitated spy.

Sarah wails, her head buried in the doctor's shoulder, "Ellie, I've waited too long, and now I've lost him. What am I going to do now?"

The three men, who, up to this moment, have been rooted to the spot by this stunning turn in events, rush over to try and comfort Sarah, shooting daggers at the nurse as they pass.

"Sarah, I'm sure Chuck's just confused—"

"My man wouldn't do that to—"

"Walker, I'll go and beat some sense into—"

They all look helplessly on as Sarah continues to shake, almost convulsively. After a few more seconds, she raises her head to look at her would-be comforters, but instead of the distraught expression they expected, they see a woman whose only tears are ones of laughter.

"What the—"

Sarah grins. "You idiots! The first thing I did when I woke him up was make sure he knew it was me. Not that he had any problem realizing that after he got the sleep out of his eyes. And, as far as Karen goes, she's done nothing but encourage me to express my feelings for Chuck."

All three are bewildered, chagrined, their pride battered by the women's laughter.

Finally, Sarah's able to say, "Ellie, it's a pity you didn't add in a clause where they would have to pay for each _time_ we kissed. That would have added up very quickly to quite a tidy sum."

Ellie looks back at her, surprised, Sarah recognizes, by her sudden openness in matters where she would normally be much more reticent. Sarah just grins and shrugs her shoulders. After all, she'd promised Chuck that everyone would eventually know how she felt about him. She might as well start right here.

Of course, she has almost immediate cause to regret that decision.

Devon booms out, "Way to go, Sarah!" He offers a fist bump which she somewhat timidly returns. "Did you and the Chuckster have time to do anything besides the kissing thing? As Ellie can testify, darkened hospital rooms can be quite conducive to romam—"

A shocked Ellie cuts him off. "Devon!"

He has the grace to look a little embarrassed. "Sorry, babe." He leans in close to Sarah and whispers (a "Devon" whisper, which, of course, everyone can hear), "You can tell me later."

Ellie just shakes her head as Sarah blushes.

And off to the side, Karen, watching the whole scenario, smiles, even more convinced that reuniting this family is worth her every effort.

…

Ellie says, "I agree, Sarah. We need to get Chuck out of there ASAP, before they try something desperate."

Sarah had explained how she'd asked Chuck to string Beckman along until the team could come up with a plan to get him to a safe place, away from the General's clutches.

"Ellie, do you think she would try to force the upload on him if he says no?" Morgan asks, the question apparently on everyone's mind, as all of them nod, paying close attention to Ellie's response.

She thinks for a few seconds before replying, "Before tonight, I would have thought it unlikely. But if they feel they can implant enough false memories to make him cooperative, they just might."

Casey grunts. "I wouldn't put it past her."

Sarah nods her agreement. Thoughtfully, she says, "Casey, I'm sure we've both been flagged by now, so you won't be able to use your own login to the NSA computers. Do you have anyone who would go backdoor for you?"

Casey ponders for a few moments. "There's a former Marine captain who works in IT. Saved his ass in Afghanistan, so he owes me. Why?"

"We need to know how many people Beckman has assigned to the hospital security detail. I only saw one at the gate and one by Chuck's room, but there must be enough to cover all the shifts, as well as a small reserve."

"SOP would be 8-10 if I had to guess. But she might have assigned more depending on how paranoid she felt. Not that all of them would necessarily be at the hospital at the same time."

"OK. It would be good if your guy can get us the exact numbers and shift details. In particular, we need to know who's on the front gate when Karen goes in tonight. Best if it wasn't the same guy who let me in. He might notice the differences."

"Got you. I'll get on it." Casey pulls out his phone and heads off into the kitchen for some privacy.

Sarah brings her attention to the nurse. "Karen, do you have an ER at the hospital?"

Karen nods. "Yes, we have a small, but first-rate trauma unit."

"So, if agents are hurt in the line of duty while in the D.C. area, they would be sent there?"

"Depends on whether they could get there without risking the life of the agent. If the injury was too severe, they'd go to the nearest hospital. Otherwise, yes, they would take them there."

"But if the injury happened nearby, they would go there for sure?"

"Yes, they would. That's happened a couple of times in the last year or so. However, we also received some stable, but serious, cases from The Farm."

Sarah's interest peaks up. "How does that work?"

"We're sent a notice that the patient is being brought in, usually by ambulance, sometimes by HEMS."

"HEMS?"

"Sorry. Helicopter Emergency Medical Service."

As Casey walks back into the room, Sarah asks the nurse, "But, in either case, you'd have advance notice, right?"

"Yes, we're sent an e-mail with the particulars. Name, extent of injuries, etc."

Sarah nods, thoughtfully.

Casey asks, "What's your plan, Walker?"

"Not totally sure yet, but I've got a couple of ideas." Turning to face the short man sitting on the couch, she asks, "Morgan, how are your acting skills? Do you think you could play a man in pain?"

…

"Yes, Ma'am. Nurse Green was logged in at 0306 this morning."

Beckman inquires, "Did she say why she came in at that hour?"

"I asked her, Ma'am, as I thought it was a strange time to start a shift. She told me she'd forgotten her phone charger and needed it in order to receive a call from her sister in Canada."

"Did she say anything else?"

"Just that she would be checking on a patient under her care, so she would be a few minutes late getting out."

"When did she log out?"

Agent Schultz checks his clipboard once again. "0337, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Agent." After consulting her tablet, she asks, "I see that Agent Semenko was on guard duty at that time. However, it seems that no knows his whereabouts, and he's not answering his phone. I was told you two are friends. Do you know how to contact him? I need to ask him some questions."

The man looks uneasy.

"Spit it out, man."

Nervously, he says, "General, Agent Semenko started his vacation at 0600. He'll be off grid for the next two weeks. Some fishing place so special that he won't even tell _me_ where it is. No cell coverage."

Her expression is stern. "Agent Schultz, you know, as well as I, that agents are required to be contactable, even if on vacation."

"Yes, Ma'am. I've reminded him a bunch of times about that." He pauses. "General, I think I have an idea about how to find Agent Semenko."

"Yes?"

"We both shop at the same sporting goods store. I could ask if he dropped any clues with the guys there. I could also find out what kind of gear he bought. Might help me narrow down what kind of fish he was going after. They might know the best places to catch them. It's a long shot, Ma'am, but it might be worth looking into."

"OK. Go and check it out. I'll replace you here."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Beckman glares at the man for a few more seconds, makes him squirm, before curtly saying, "That'll be all. Dismissed."

Agent Schultz, obviously relieved, quickly exits the room, leaving the General alone with her thoughts.

Diane Beckman has the distinct feeling that she's missed something. It had started when she woke up this morning after a restless night's sleep, which had driven her to check the security logs the moment she arrived at the hospital.

Diane acknowledges that the charger excuse is just plausible enough to be real. But the on-duty nurse said she hadn't seen Karen Green during the time the log indicated she was in the hospital, and had admitted that this was strange, as the two of them are close friends.

The security tapes had shown a woman who certainly appeared to be Nurse Green, (although the cameras never got a really clear view of her face) chatting with the currently unavailable Agent Semenko before entering Bartowski's room and staying there for twenty minutes or so. If the patient had been anyone but Bartowski, Diane might have entertained the idea that the purpose of the call was for some sort of romantic liaison. The nurse is certainly attractive enough, even with the age difference. And the two had clearly struck up a close friendship during the time they'd spent together.

But she'd pushed the idea from her mind as soon as it appeared. For the past year or so, it's been obvious how Bartowski feels about Agent Walker. Beckman knows the man well enough that he wouldn't risk that burgeoning relationship with some dalliance.

It's likely that the whole matter was simply a nurse wanting to make sure her patient was OK, but, somehow, Diane feels there's got to be more to it. What, though, she doesn't know. She just wishes she knew what had gone on between the two of them, cursing, for a moment, the regulations which disallow recordings in patient rooms.

She's probably just being paranoid, but it's a feeling she's learned not to ignore. So, as a precautionary measure, she makes a note to have Nurse Karen Green put under surveillance after her shift tonight. And to also have her home and phones bugged.

Diane wonders if she should just ban her from the hospital altogether. However, she has no evidence the nurse has actually done anything untoward. There's no indication that she's disobeyed her orders and told the man about his visitors. Besides, it appears that Karen Green's protective presence has helped in keeping Bartowski stable.

Still feeling a little uneasy, the General turns her attention to the matter at hand: how to convince an understandably reluctant Charles Bartowski to download the Intersect once again.

So far, the carrot seems to be working, but if, for some reason, it doesn't, she may have to use the stick. This morning, her experts had come up with a modification to Summer Crest that they believed might make it more successful. If it panned out, the whole willing cooperation thing she's been trying to elicit from the man may become unnecessary.

…

It's a little chilly up on the hospital's roof deck, but his jacket and the patio warmer makes it tolerable. Pushing away his dinner plate, he marvels over the quality of his meal. An actual cheeseburger and fries. Ever since Karen had brought him those pancakes, his meals have gotten better and better, and he can't help but think that she must have somehow had a hand in the improvements. Maybe she called in a favor of some sort for him. That sort of kindness wouldn't have been surprising, even before Sarah had told him what the nurse was putting on the line for him.

Sipping contemplatively on his beer, he mentally kicks himself once more for believing all the crap that Beckman had so glibly spewed out. How could he have thought, even for a moment, that his friends, his sister, _Sarah_ , for god's sake, weren't real, that they didn't have a deep and loving attachment to him?

The problem now is, of course, making sure that he doesn't give himself away. Beckman has to believe that he still feels utterly abandoned, that he's still grappling with the idea that he isn't who believes he is.

But to do that, he'll have to push the events of Sarah's unexpected, amazing visit out of his mind. It floors him when he once again thinks how, with just a few words and actions, she'd brought him from the depths of absolute despair to the heights of a never before experienced joy. Even now he has to pinch himself, so to speak, just to make sure he didn't dream the whole thing.

After she'd left, he'd slept fitfully, his mind whirling over the future that had suddenly opened up. A future he'd only dared to dream of before. The big problem, and the most immediate, is holding Beckman off until Sarah can find a way to get him away from here. Otherwise, that future will remain just that, a dream.

…

Chuck turns upon hearing the door to the rooftop garden open, sees General Beckman walking towards him. He stands.

Cheerfully she says, "Good evening, Chuck. How are you feeling tonight?"

"Good evening, Ma'am. Pretty good. Thank you for asking."

They both sit, facing each other across the table.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Truth be told, General, no, not well at all."

She nods sympathetically. "I guess you have a lot on your mind."

"Yes, Ma'am, I do. Even had a nightmare about the whole thing last night. Fortunately, Nurse Green dropped in about the time I woke up and I was able to talk some things out with her."

Beckman says, "I thought she was off duty until tonight."

"Yes, General, she was, but she happened to be in the building, so dropped in to see how I was." Too late, Chuck realizes Sarah didn't tell him the excuse she'd used to return to the hospital.

"Did she say why she'd come back?"

Thinking quickly, he replies, "No, Ma'am. I guess in the aftermath of helping me deal with of my nightmare, she forgot to mention it to me."

Somehow, Chuck gets the feeling that the General is suspicious. But all she says is, "I hope you were careful about what you said. You did remember that she's not read in on the Intersect?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I remember what you told me. I was careful, didn't let on about any details."

"Good." Pausing for a second, she asks, "I assume you know why I'm here?"

"Yes, Ma'am and I've been thinking things over. The idea of starting a new life is very appealing." He averts his eyes, stares over her shoulder at nothing in particular." He snorts angrily. "After all, what's left in Burbank to keep me there? Not a damn thing. Especially not her."

Bringing his eyes back to the General, he says, resignedly, "I might as well go somewhere else. Maybe I can find myself if I don't have to deal with the memories of that place." Quietly, he adds, "And after all the craziness of the past three years, a quiet place does sound pretty good to me."

"That's good to hear, Chuck. However, I do think I'm hearing a 'but' in there somewhere."

He nods. "Yes, Ma'am you do. Even with the assurances you gave me yesterday, I'm still afraid of what might go wrong. That I might be put into a coma that I don't come out of this time. Maybe suffer brain damage or something."

"I completely understand. The last thing we want is for you to feel pressured. Tell you what, if you can't make up your mind by tomorrow morning, we'll fly you up to Caspar to see the city for yourself. Let you spend a few days there. Maybe that'll give you a chance gain a new perspective. How does that sound?"

He smiles. "Thank you, General. That does sound good. It's nice not to feel pressured. I hope I'll be able to decide by tomorrow."

"That's excellent. Try and get some rest tonight. Don't worry about this too much. Whatever you decide will be acceptable in the end." She rises from her chair and Chuck follows suit.

"Thank you, Ma'am. I appreciate your patience."

"Think nothing of it. You deserve it. Goodnight, Agent Carmichael."

"Goodnight, Ma'am

As he watches the General walk away, Chuck prays that Sarah finds a way real soon. There's no way in hell he's going to get on that plane and let himself be further separated from the people he loves. Who knows where they'll really take him?

…

As Diane Beckman enters the elevator, her gut tells her that tomorrow will be time for the stick.

…

"Chuck, wake up!" The quiet voice gradually rouses him from sleep. Opening his sleep-filled eyes, he sees a face framed by short blonde hair hovering above him.

Smirking a little, he just as quietly asks, "Sarah, is that you?" He sits up swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Smirking back at him, the woman replies, "Don't be a smart ass, Chuck. You know very well who it is." She swats his shoulder.

"Alright, alright. You don't have to beat on me, Karen."

"Sarah told me that you'd be a problem." She grins.

"She did, did she? She tell you anything else?"

"Yes. She asked me to tell you that she loves you."

"Does Ellie know that you were to pass on that sentiment?"

"Yes, Sarah told the two of us in private. But Ellie did this odd squeal thing that may have given it away to the guys."

He chuckles. "That's my sister all right."

"More importantly, Sarah wanted me to give you this." She hands Chuck a small black box with a prominent antenna.

Taking it in his hand, he turns it over, trying to figure out what it does. "What is it?"

"Sarah told me it'll allow you to use your tablet on a secure satellite network, bypassing the hospital's restricted one."

"Yeah, I'd noticed I was pretty limited by it. But why now?"

"I was asked to tell you that we need the Piranha if we're going to get you out of here. She said you would know what that meant."

"Ah, yes. My old hacker handle." He smiles. "So what am I supposed to do? Shut down the power grid? Create a fake nationwide state of emergency which would draw all the security personnel away from the building?"

She stares at him. "You could do that?"

He chuckles. "Maybe if I had a supercomputer and a week to work on it, I could begin to make an attempt. With a tablet and what I'm guessing is just a few hours, no. I'm good, but not that good."

She nods. "It's just as well then, that all you have to do is send an e-mail."

"Why did you need me for that? Sounds pretty simple."

"Not quite. You'll have to hack into the hospital's system in order to make them believe that we got that e-mail from Fort Peary."

"Is that all? Piece of cake." He turns on the tablet and, using the black box, proceeds to establish a satellite connection. "You don't happen to have a bottle of Chardonnay handy, do you?"

The Nurse just looks at him in confusion. "Why on earth…"

"Sorry, just ignore me. Was there anything else?"

"You also have to make sure that if the hospital requests a confirmation, they'll get it."

"A little more difficult, but I think I can handle it. Where do I go for the details?"

Karen fishes out a piece of paper from her pocket. "Here's the address. The document is encrypted. Sarah said the password is the full name of someone you were tempted to kill after an incident in Barstow."

His eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying on the virtual keyboard, he simply says, "Morgan."

Surprised, Karen replies, "I thought he was your best friend."

Chuckling, he looks up and says, "He is, but let's just say there was a moment where I would have cheerfully strangled the little guy."

He types in the name in question and starts to read the document that appears. After a few minutes of mostly silent perusal, punctuated only by a couple of chuckles, he turns to Karen and says, "I can tell that everyone, including you, contributed, but I see Sarah's hand everywhere. She's an amazing planner." Pausing for a second, he adds, "And a very determined one. I get the feeling that, come hell or high water, I'm getting out of here tonight."

Karen nods, her expression neutral. "Yes. She was quite firm on that point."

Smiling, he says, "I expect that's a bit of an understatement."

Karen grins back. "Yes, you're right. When she ran down the plan for us, there were more than a few expletives and oddly specific threats directed toward any person or persons who got in our way."

"Yeah, that's my girl. She gets just a wee bit upset when it comes to anyone threatening my safety."

"I've noticed," is Karen's dry reply.

He chuckles.

"By the way, your girl? I very much doubt that Sarah is anyone's _girl_."

This time he laughs outright. "Your right about that. Definitely a woman, her own person, for sure."

Karen nods her agreement.

Returning his attention to his tablet, he says, "OK. I'd better get to it. These things don't hack themselves."

"And I'll get back to my duties. I do have other things to do aside from taking care of you."

He's already typing as he replies. "Good. Give me an hour and I'll run what I've done by you. See if you think it'll fool them."

"Alright. See you in an hour."

…

"Where will you be when they arrive?" Chuck asks.

"I'll be waiting in the ambulance bay."

He glances at his watch. "So now we wait."

"Yes. I guess I should get out of here before the guard gets suspicious."

"Before you go, Karen, I have one question."

"What?"

"Why are you doing this for us? You're putting your whole career on the line."

She pauses for a moment at what Chuck thinks is an unexpected question. "It's a little hard to explain."

She doesn't immediately elaborate, but Chuck says nothing, just waits on her.

"I guess it all started when you were still in your coma. I saw how your visitors acted around you, how they felt about you. They're such a diverse group, but it was clear they all loved you, each in their own way."

"All of them? Even Casey?"

She chuckles. "Yes, even Casey. But especially Sarah. Chuck, I wish you could've seen her. She came every night, without fail, and sat by your bed, your hand in hers. Then she talked to you, for hours on end."

He's suddenly choked up, can barely ask, "What did she say?"

"She spoke quietly, bringing her head close to yours, so I couldn't hear the words. And I wouldn't have listened even if I could've. But it didn't take a genius to know she was telling you how much she loved you, how desperately she wanted you to come back. How much she wanted to have a life with you."

Not trusting himself to speak, Chuck waits for Karen to continue.

Looking into his face, Karen earnestly adds, "Chuck, there's a saying that you can tell a lot about a person by the friends he has. So I'd already formed an opinion about what you were like, even before you woke up and basically confirmed I was right. You're a good man, Chuck, and people like you don't deserve what Beckman is trying to pull off here. None of you do."

Her eyes drift away from his and she stares off into space. "I've seen far too many good men and women who, through circumstance or choice, have had their chance for happiness pass them by, all for the greater good, only to later find their lives empty of any real connections. Living alone. Dying alone in some hospital bed. Pouring out their lives into the ears of a sympathetic nurse because they have no one in their lives who cares enough to visit them."

He asks quietly, "How many times, Karen?"

Looking at him again, she softly replies, "More than I care to remember, Chuck."

Suddenly, a look of determination overcomes her face as she states, "And that's one of the reasons I'm doing this. If I can help someone avoid that fate, I'm willing to do whatever I can."

"You don't have to worry about me, Karen. If I have any say in it, I'll never go down that road."

"Chuck, I wasn't thinking primarily about you. I was mostly thinking about Sarah."

Surprised, he asks, "What do you mean?"

"Chuck, do you have any idea what would happen to her if you disappeared from her life?"

He gulps, thinking about that possibility for a moment, then says, "I guess she'd be reassigned back to the kinds of missions she did before. But she'd still have the rest of them to fall back on, she wouldn't have to be alone."

Shaking her head, Karen replies, "Maybe for a while, but eventually she would drift away, back to her solitary life."

The thought disturbs him. "No, you're wrong. If nothing else, she and she Ellie are very close. Sarah could always depend on her."

"You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" he asks, puzzled.

"Chuck, you're the glue that holds that group together. I could tell after spending just a few hours in their company. No matter how hard they tried, if you were gone they'd fall apart in six months or less."

He blushes, his head down. "C'mon, Karen, I'm not that important."

Her words are firm. "Yes, Chuck, you are. Sure, Ellie and Devon would have each other. But do you think even Morgan would spend much time around them after you're gone? Casey would go back to his life, one that would, I suspect, never bring him in contact with the group again. As for Sarah, she would find it much too painful to be reminded of how close she was to having the life she wanted, only to see it torn from her grasp. Eventually, the visits, the phone calls, the emails would taper off and she'd be gone. If she didn't end up being killed in some godforsaken hellhole, she would wind up being one of those I spoke of, alone and unloved."

Shaking his head, he says, "No, Karen, you can't know that for sure. Sarah's a beautiful, incredible woman. Surely, there are other good men out there who could make her happy."

"Possibly, but that would only happen if she was willing to look for them. Willing to let them into her life. But, Chuck, I don't see it. From what I've learned of Sarah, I'm convinced that losing you would close that chapter in her life."

He ponders the nurse's words for a few second before firmly declaring, "Well, assuming that's true, that's all the more reason to make sure the plan works, isn't it?"

Nodding emphatically, she replies, "Yes, Chuck. It is."

Looking at her for few moments longer, he asks, "Karen, you implied there was at least one other reason why you were willing to put your career on the line for us."

"Yes, I did. They're personal ones."

Embarrassed, he quickly replies, "I'm sorry, Karen. I didn't mean to pry."

"No, Chuck. I didn't mean it that way. I meant that I have personal reasons for wanting the two of you to be happy." She pauses.

"It's OK, Karen. You don't have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, I don't mind telling you about them. Well, not too much."

He waits for her to speak, which she does after a few moments of silence.

"I told you I was married very young. In fact, I wasn't quite eighteen. We were OK for a year or so until we began to realize we were completely unsuited for each other. Foolishly, we thought that having a child would make us closer. We tried for a year with no success. In the end, it was discovered that I couldn't get pregnant."

"Karen, I'm so sorry."

She shrugs a shoulder. "Anyway, that was pretty much the end for us. We drifted apart and got divorced a few years later. But for years afterward, I imagined what it would've been like to have a little girl of my own, with blonde hair and blue eyes. I imagined her starting school, graduating, finding a wonderful man to settle down with. Me at the wedding as I watched her make her vows."

"I can't even imagine how difficult that was for you, Karen."

"Thank you, Chuck. I've kept myself busy over the years, have put those thoughts behind me. That is until the two of you came into my life." She stops, makes sure she has his attention before adding, "You see, Chuck, Sarah is just about the right age to be the daughter I never had. She even looks a bit like me. On the night you woke up, I finally realized why I felt so protective towards her. Why my heart broke as I watched her speak with you. Right then I knew I would do whatever it took to help her find happiness, even if that meant putting myself in harm's way."

Chuck looks at her for a few seconds, says very earnestly, "I told Sarah that you're a great person. I now see that description was completely inadequate."

The nurse blushes, her head down.

Fortunately, she's spared further embarrassment by the ding of an incoming text message on Chuck's tablet. He picks it up, quickly scans the screen.

"That was Sarah. They'll be here in 30 minutes or so."

"OK, Chuck. I'd better get to my position."

"Yes, Karen. You haven't seen Sarah and Casey in action yet. I can assure you it's something you won't want to miss."

"Looking forward to it. There's one more thing Sarah asked me to tell you before the action started. She was quite adamant that I say it exactly the way she said it and to make sure I had your full attention before repeating it."

"You've got it. What did she want to tell me?"

"Stay in the room, Chuck!"

 **TBC**

—-

 _A/N: Some action coming next chapter. And a little tete-a-tete between two important characters, one of whom will definitely not enjoy said conversation._


	12. Chapter 7 Bartowski

_A/N: I know I'm really late in updating. As a way of apologizing, the concluding two chapters are BIG ones._

 _For those of you waiting to see some action, this is your chapter. But please remember, as I've stated in other A/Ns, my characters live in a somewhat kinder world, so there won't be anything overly graphic. But don't worry, a certain person does get her comeuppance._

 _There'll also be some humor and, most importantly, Charah!_

 _A big thank you to_ michaelfmx _, my beta. His patience and suggestions are very much appreciated._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 _"That was Sarah. They'll be here in 30 minutes or so."_

 _"OK, Chuck. I'd better get to my position."_

 _"Yes, Karen. You haven't seen Sarah and Casey in action yet. I can assure you it's something you won't want to miss."_

 _"Looking forward to it. There's one more thing Sarah asked me to tell you before the action started. She was quite adamant that I say it exactly the way she said it and to make sure I had your full attention before repeating it."_

 _"You've got it. What did she want to tell me?"_

 _"Stay in the room, Chuck!"_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 7 Bartowski**

Sitting in the main gate's guard shack **,** NSA Agent Dave Williams peers out into the darkness, keeping an eye out for the first sign of the ambulance he'd been told to expect. A routine patient transfer from Camp Peary, most probably from "The Farm". Before his fellow guard had headed home, they'd joked about that for a minute or two, tossing around the likelihood it was some CIA trainee who'd accidentally shot himself in the foot the first time he'd handled a gun.

At least it should help break up the monotony of another boring night. Nothing ever happens here.

Just as the telephone rings, he yawns. Stifling it, he picks up the phone and answers, "Front gate."

"Command post. We just got a heads up on the transfer. The patient has developed some sudden complications, so the ambulance will be coming in hot. Just verify the driver's ID, the vehicle's plates, and move them on."

He glances down at his clipboard, confirming that he has that info. "Roger that."

"They should only be a couple of minutes out."

Agent Williams hears the ambulance before he sees it, the wail of the siren suddenly reaching him.

"I've got them."

"Good, we'll leave you to it."

Hanging up the phone, he sees the ambulance's flashing lights illuminating the trees on the winding road leading to the hospital, the vehicle itself appearing less than a minute later.

Stepping out of the guard shack, he waits for it to come to a sudden halt before the gate, the siren cutting off at the same time.

The license plate checks, so he quickly walks to the driver's window, which is rolling down even as he approaches.

"I know you're in a hurry, just need your ID."

The woman behind the wheel slowly turns her head his way, giving the guard his first good look at her.

For a moment or two, all he can see are a pair of stunning blue eyes. Then the long dark hair. An amazing, brilliant smile.

He just stands there staring, unmoving, doesn't notice the offered ID until she asks, with what he thinks is some amusement, "You wanted this?"

Giving himself a shake, he replies, "Yes. Yes, thank you."

Rebecca Franco. He looks at her and then checks the ID. Then he looks at her again, studying her face for a few seconds longer than is truly necessary to verify her identity.

"Good." Just as he's handing it back, an almost ear piercing scream comes from the back of the vehicle.

Startled, the guard jumps. "What the hell was that?"

"Our patient. He was OK until about fifteen minutes ago, then this just came on suddenly. Scared the hell outta me the first couple of times." She smiles again, dazzling him once more.

It takes a second or two before he's able to form a coherent thought. "Yes. I imagine." Somewhat reluctant to see her leave, he adds, "I guess you'd better get him in there right quick. You know where the ambulance bay is?"

"Yeah, been here before."

Hitting the transmit button, he speaks into his shoulder mounted mic. "Ambulance coming in."

"Roger that."

The guard opens the gate, then turns to watch the vehicle as it rapidly makes its way down to the ER.

 _Hope she's still here when I finish my shift. Maybe she'll agree to have coffee or something._

Suddenly it hits him. When he'd been sent here, he'd been given a list of names, with photos of five people who were barred from entering the hospital. He hasn't looked at the list for a few days, but remembers a Sarah Walker, a blonde woman with a severe expression. She looked a lot like Rebecca. He has a sinking feeling he'd better check. Pronto.

As he turns back to his guard shack, he's abruptly confronted by a man standing only a few feet away. A _big_ man, _definitely_ one of the people on the list.

Seeing the gun pointed at him, Dave Williams reaches for his sidearm, but, even as he does, he knows he's far too late. He feels a sting in his neck, has only time for one fleeting thought before he slumps to the ground, unconscious.

 _He must have been in the ambulance._

…

 _Never fails. Walker flashes her pearly whites and they're stunned stupid. Hardly needed to dart the poor sap._

Tranquing the guard at this point had been a late adjustment, based on Bartowski's additions to the original plan. When he'd informed them that he'd found a way to hack into the hospital's systems, (something that no one had anticipated, given the limited equipment the man had at his disposal) the original plan had undergone some significant modifications.

Casey had grumbled a bit, as he'd kinda liked the whole shock and awe component of the original plan. Still, he has to admit the changes did improve their chance of success.

The man really is a freaking genius with all that techno crap. Not that he'd say that to his face.

Well, maybe someday.

All he can say is that Bartowski better have gotten it right, or it's all going to hit the fan real quick.

After he drags the unconscious guard into the shack, Casey takes the man's pistol, and, quickly breaking it down, throws the parts into the bushes thirty feet away.

Turning his head towards his tiny lapel mike, he tersely says, "Gate secure."

Walker's reply, "Roger that," is almost immediate.

Grabbing the guard's radio, Casey shuts the door and runs to the hospital's side entrance, making sure the gate is locked open behind him.

…

"Agent O'Reilly. The main gate camera is acting up."

The older guard looks over to his colleague's workstation. "Yeah, whole system's been a little flaky for the past couple of hours. Usually just lasts a few seconds. And by the way, Marty, I'm not a stickler for formality. You can just call me Terry."

"OK, Terry."

"You replaced Schultz, right?"

"Yeah, I was just sent down today."

"You've studied the list Beckman gave us?"

Marty taps his temple. "Yup. All up here."

"Good."

Just then, the blank quadrant on the monitor comes to life again, showing the guard sitting in the shack, the gate secure.

"See, there it is."

"You reported it, Terry?"

He nods. "Yeah, sent a priority e-mail to alert the powers that be. Got a response real quick, which isn't like them. A tech will be here at 0700. Said that's the best they could do. Seems as if we're not exactly high priority down here."

"Why's that?"

"Well, if you'd been here as long as I have, you'd realize that this is the most boring assignment you could get. A couple of patients got discharged today, so we're down to just the one, and what? Six or eight staff on at the moment?"

"Then why are we here?"

"To watch over the guy in 106. It's clear that General Beckman considers him a valuable commodity. That's why we have a guard on his door."

The outside camera covering the hospital's side entrance cuts out.

"Damn, there it goes again."

"Should we be concerned?"

"Nah, don't worry about it. Nothing ever happens here."

Terry stands. "Except, maybe for this patient transfer. I guess I'd better go and check that everything's OK. You man the fort."

"Roger that."

Just as the door closes, Marty McSorley notices that while the outside camera has come up, the one covering the ER decides it's time for it to flake out. He slaps the side of the monitor, recognizing the pointlessness of the action even as he does it.

Unsurprisingly, that section of the monitor remains blank, but following his superior's lead, he decides not to worry about it.

…

The ambulance quickly backs into the bay, with a doctor, nurse and two orderlies anxiously awaiting the opening of the rear doors. They all flinch when they hear the loud scream from within the vehicle. A second later, the doors swing open and two EMTs, a man, and a woman, their caps pulled low down their foreheads, wheel out the gurney.

The ER doctor barks out. "Status."

The female EMT answers, in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "Thirty-year-old male. Being brought here for treatment of a minor gunshot wound to his right foot. En route, he developed severe right lower quadrant abdominal pain. Suspected sudden onset acute appendicitis. Hung an IV and administered 10mg of morphine to little effect."

Just at that moment, the man in question grabs the doctor's hand, and practically sobbing, begs, "You gotta help me, Doc! You've gotta give me sumthin' for the pain!"

The middle-aged doctor looks down at the young man, writhing on the gurney. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of you."

The physician then turns and politely asks, "Nurse Green, please see to it that the patient is given a lower abdominal CT scan. A CBC. And prepare the OR. Stat, please. I'll go and scrub up."

"Yes, Doctor Thordason." She gestures to the taller of the two orderlies. "Sven, please alert the imaging technician that we're bringing in a patient." Before he has a chance to respond, the automatic doors of the ER open and a guard walks in.

He looks around, then inquires, "Everything OK down here, Doc?"

Sighing a little, she replies, "Yes, Agent O'Reilly. We have a patient with some issues, but other than that we're good. Why do you ask?"

"We've been having some technical issues. Just wanted to make sure there weren't any problems."

There's steel in her words. "No problems, and there _won't_ be any if you kindly move out of the way and let us do our jobs."

"Sorry." He backs off to one side to let the gurney pass, but as it does, something about the man on it nags at him.

 _Where have I seen him before?_

The agent notices the patient has a fresh shaving nick just under his right ear, and it clicks in.

 _He had a beard._

"Stop!"

His authoritative voice brings everyone to a halt.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" the older woman asks angrily.

"Sorry, Doctor Thordason, but this man is not allowed in the hospital."

"You have no right to make that decision!"

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but I do if it's a matter of security."

"What in blue blazes are you talking about, man?"

"General Beckman has specifically barred this man and his associates from entering these premises." He looks down at the man before him.

"Isn't that right, Mister Grimes? First name, Morgan, I believe?"

Morgan, looking up the big man towering above him, just lets out a painful sounding groan.

"Agent O'Reilly, this man needs medical attention."

"Sorry, ma'am, this man is no sicker than you or me. It's all just a ploy to get in here." He pauses. "Of course, I may be wrong. Maybe we should let the doctors cut you open and find out what's going on. How do you feel about that idea, Mr. Grimes?"

Morgan sits up. "It's a miracle! I suddenly feel much better."

"I thought you might."

Spotting some surreptitious movement to his right, he turns and adds, "And, unless I'm sadly mistaken, those two EMTs that I see trying to blend into the woodwork, are part of the ploy as well."

The two halt their sidling motion.

"Please take off your caps."

After a moment they both obey, the woman releasing her long brown hair as she does so.

Doctor Thordason lets out a small gasp. "You were here trying to help that coma patient! Carmichael, wasn't it?"

They both nod, reluctantly.

"Doctor, let me introduce you to Drs. Eleanor and Devon Woodcomb. Both persona non grata."

The older doctor turns to them and asks, "What's going on here?"

Neither reply.

Turning to the doctor, Agent O'Reilly speaks up, "I'm quite certain it has everything to do with the man you just mentioned. They're either here to take him out, which, from what I see, is very unlikely, or they're here in an attempt to break him out."

Again, the accused say nothing, but their guilty looks give them away.

The agent nods. "Yes, that's what I thought. I assume you three were the distraction, that your partners are, as we speak, somewhere else in the hospital, heading for the objective. Well, that's not gonna fly."

Taking a couple of steps, he picks up the wall-mounted phone and punches in three numbers.

"Security."

"McSorley."

"Yes, Agent O'Reilly?"

"We had a situation in the ER, which I now have under control. But we need to alert the ready room guards. Tell them to head to room 106 to backup Agent Nilan. Inform them that they're to be on the lookout for Agent Sarah Walker and Major John Casey, numbers one and two on General Beckman's list. They may be disguised, but they're both taller than average, so tell them to watch for that. Under no circumstances are they to be allowed to remove or contact the patient in that room. Got that?"

Out of the corner of his eye, O'Reilly sees one of the orderlies trying to get his attention, but ignores him for the moment.

"Roger that. Should I join them?"

"No, you stay there and monitor the situation."

"Roger that."

Hanging up the phone, he turns to the orderly, who he now remembers is named Mike, and asks, a little irritated, "OK, Mike, what did you want to tell me?"

"You mentioned to watch out for a tall woman. The ambulance driver is quite tall."

O'Reilly, who'd assumed that there'd only been the typical two-person crew, is caught by surprise. "What! Nobody told me there was a separate driver. Where is she?"

Mike points to a shadowed corner behind the agent's right shoulder. "She's right over...well, she was up until about a minute ago."

Agent O'Reilly's hand drops to his Glock as he turns to frantically look around the room, realizing that if only a tenth of the whispers about Agent Walker that float around the intelligence community are accurate, he's in deep—

Of course, it's right then that the lights go out.

...

"Roger that." Releasing the transmit button, he turns to his partner and asks, "You catch all that?"

"Yeah. Back up Nilan. Watch out for anyone meeting Agent Walker or Major Casey's descriptions. Make sure they don't get to the occupant of 106."

"Good, let's move."

The two burly young guards walk quickly towards their destination. Upon coming to a T-junction, they make a sharp right-hand turn, only to pull up short upon seeing the big man blocking their way.

Overcoming his surprise, the first guard begins to say, "Major Casey. Sorry, sir, but you'll need to come with…"

The tranq dart puts him down before he can finish the sentence.

The other guard, even though well trained, is momentarily stunned by the abrupt escalation of the encounter, so is a little slow to reach for his sidearm. Looking stupidly at the dart protruding from his shoulder, he collapses to the ground beside his partner.

Looking down at the two of them, Casey says, "Sorry, boys. No can do."

He grabs a set of keycards from one of the guard's belts, glad to see that they're clearly labeled.

After dragging the two unconscious guards into an empty room, he breaks down their Glocks, throwing the parts in various trash cans as he hurries down the corridor.

…

The emergency lights come on after only a couple of seconds, and when they do, the first thing O'Reilly sees is a dark-haired woman in an EMT uniform standing ten feet away, pointing a gun at him.

 _Where the hell did she come from?_

He slowly raises his hands, realizing that he's been caught flat-footed.

"Agent Walker, I presume?"

She nods.

"You gonna shoot me, Agent?"

She nods again. "Afraid so. But you'll be relieved to know it's only a tranq pistol."

He _is_ relieved. _Not quite ready to die just yet._

"But first of all, let me get rid of this thing. Itches like hell." She pulls off the dark wig, then tosses it into the corner, never taking her eyes off of the guard while doing so. She runs the fingers of her left hand through her shortish blond hair.

She almost sounds a little apologetic. "We can't have you getting in our way."

She squeezes the trigger, but instead of the expected _pfft_ of the dart leaving the barrel, there's only the click of a misfire.

...

McSorley hears the door unlock behind him, but pays it no mind until he finishes relaying O'Reilly's instructions to the guards.

Swinging the chair around, he says, "Hey, Terry. Everything OK down there…?"

His voice tapers off as he recognizes the big man standing a few feet away.

Major John Casey. With a pistol of some sort held down by his side.

Even though Marty is in a very awkward position, with access to his holster partially blocked by the arm of his chair, he starts to go for his Glock. But before his hand moves more than a couple of inches, the Major says, with quiet authority, "Don't. You'll never get to it in time."

He does stop, vividly recalling all the wild rumors that passed around the NSA hallways about this man. Definitely not someone to be trifled with.

"Stand."

Marty obeys, gulping as he does.

"Your sidearm. Slowly, with two fingers only."

With his thumb and forefinger, he gingerly pulls his pistol from the holster.

"On the floor. Gently. Kick it my way."

Marty follows the instructions to the letter, the pistol winding up right at the feet of the big man.

He stoops to pick it up, his eyes never leaving the nervous young man standing in front of him.

He straightens up, slips the gun under his belt, then says, "OK, now that we've got that out of the way, I need you to do me a favor."

"A favor?"

"Yes. I could put it in different terms, make all sorts of references to the dire consequences that would result if you refuse, but I prefer to keep it nice and pleasant. You good with that?"

Marty nods emphatically, swallowing hard.

He grunts. "OK." Pointing to radio on his belt, Casey says, "I just overheard your instructions to Agent Nilan. I need you give him some new information."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I need you to tell him that you've just been informed that it was a false alarm and that the reinforcements have been recalled."

"I don't think I can-"

The man actually growls at him.

"OK, OK, I will." Then he catches himself. "What did you do to them?"

"They're taking a nap. Not a euphemism, just in case you're wondering." The Major holds up what Marty now recognizes as a tranq pistol.

Agent McSorley feels an acute sense of relief, not just for the fate of his colleagues, but also for his own. Better a temporary nap than a permanent one.

Looking at the agent's name badge, the Major adds, "And, Agent McSorley, I'll need you to replace the guard when he comes off shift in the next few minutes."

Shaking his head, Marty replies, "There was a staffing problem earlier tonight, so Nilan's shift is only halfway through."

He scowls. "Then you'll need to tell him that you've been instructed to exchange positions with him now."

"Won't work."

"Why?"

"It's SOP that changes in assignments have to come from the agent in charge, in this case, Agent O'Reilly."

"Damn. Where is he?

"Down in the ER."

"That so? Well, I suspect he may be a little too busy to think about giving any orders right now."

The Major looks to the monitors. "OK, in that case, I need to see the camera covering the area near the room."

Marty turns and punching a few keys, brings up the camera. They both see the guard, looking alert, standing at his post.

"OK, now's the time to tell him about the changes. Don't try and slip in some code word or phrase. Trust me, I'll know if you do and you really don't want to go down that path."

They see the guard react to the message, hear his acknowledgment, notice as the man noticeably relaxes.

After hanging up, Marty hears the words, "Good job," from behind him, then feels the sting in the back of his neck. He's already unconscious by the time his forehead smacks into the keyboard.

…

For a second, neither move, then Agent O'Reilly goes for his gun. It's barely out of his holster, when, in a movement that's almost too fast for him to follow, she closes the distance, and, with a swinging kick, knocks it from his hand, sending it skittering across the floor until it hits the far wall.

 _Damn, she's fast!_

He sees her foot flash towards his groin, instinctively managing to block it, only realizing it's a feint when his movement brings him within range of her elbow. By turning and ducking his head, he manages to avoid what would have been an incapacitating blow to his throat, instead, receives one that viciously connects with his left cheek, sending him staggering backward, seeing stars.

Before he can recover, she moves in quickly, hitting him with a quick, hard jab to his nose which snaps his head back. Then another jab to the chin, which rocks him back on his heels. Before he has even the slightest chance to reply in kind, she darts back out of range.

Dazed, it's at this moment that O'Reilly, despite having probably eighty pounds and six inches on his opponent, realizes he's not likely going to win this fight.

Still, he has to try. Shaking his head to clear away the cobwebs, he lunges at her, knowing his only chance is to get close and use his superior strength and mass to immobilize her.

But she's not having any of that. She easily, almost laughingly so, evades his headlong rush, and, as he passes, he feels the sharp edge of her boot crash heavily into the back of his head. Even as he sees stars once again, part of him has to admire her agility.

He turns to face her, his legs suddenly unsteady. He shakes his head once more, but this time the cobwebs remain.

He knows he's beaten, and, what's more, knows that she knows it too.

They lock eyes, communicating without words.

 _Just go down._

 _You know I can't._

She nods. _I know._

This time it's more of a lumbering stumble than an actual rush. The foot to his abdomen doubles him over, and the knee meeting his head on the way down sends him mercifully into oblivion.

Sarah looks down at the unconscious man at her feet for few seconds, then walks over to secure his sidearm, sliding it into her jacket pocket. As she does so, the stunned silence of the onlookers is suddenly broken by Morgan's outburst. "Sarah! That was awesome! The way you kicked his—"

She cuts him off, perhaps a little harshly, considering the man's boyish enthusiasms. "Morgan, that man was only doing his job. He's one of the good guys, in case you've forgotten."

"But—"

"No buts. He's not the one to blame for what's going on here. It needed to be done, but I'm not happy that I had to do it."

Morgan mumbles an apology. "Sorry, Sarah. Guess I got carried away."

Knowing his fondness for martial arts movies, Sarah is inclined to forgive the little man.

"It's OK. Let's just make sure we concentrate our efforts on the real bad guys, alright?"

"OK, Sarah."

Turning, Sarah catches a glance from Karen, sees something in her look, approval, perhaps, and, although she's not sure for what exactly, finds herself oddly warmed by it.

Pushing that aside for another time, Sarah walks over and bends down to pick up her tranq pistol. Racking the slide, she clears the defective round and then fires a dart into the agent's neck.

At Morgan's surprised look, she says, "Can't take any chances."

"OK. Enough of this. It's about time you tell us what the hell's going on here."

Sarah turns to the sound of the irate voice.

"Sorry, Doctor. I expect all of this is very confusing."

"You're damn right about that."

"I'll tell you what I can, but, first of all, I need you to give me your cell phones."

"Why?"

"Until we're clear, I can't have anyone outside of the hospital know what's going on. Do it now, please. I really don't have time to waste."

There's a bit of initial reluctance, but upon seeing the fierce scowl on Sarah's face, (a scowl she doesn't even realize she's displaying) they all quickly place them on the now empty gurney.

"Thank you. You'll find them in one of the empty rooms after we're gone. Morgan, please collect them."

Sarah waits until he finishes doing so, then goes on, "OK. To make a long story short, Chuck is a close friend of ours. The powers that be are threatening to perform a highly dangerous and illegal experiment on him. _We will not let that happen_ , so, as Agent O'Reilly accurately surmised, we're here to break him out."

Sven, the blonde orderly, speaks up, "Chuck's a good guy. Why would—"

"I don't have time to discuss the ethics of the situation. For now, I need all of you to go into the supply closet over there. All except Nurse Green. We'll need her as a guide."

Thordason objects, "I will not permit you to harm any of my staff. Please take me instead."

"That's very noble of you, Doctor, but there's no need to worry. We have no intention of harming Nurse Green, or anyone else for that matter. Aside from him," she gestures to the man lying on the floor, "the worst we hope you'll have to deal with is the hangover from the tranq darts.

"Now, into the closet, please." The three of them file in. Grabbing a fire extinguisher, Sarah smashes it against the inside door handle, breaking it off.

Closing the door, she says, "Don't bother trying the phone in there. All the landlines and intercoms are shut down. But don't worry. Someone will come along to fetch you in the next couple of hours."

Sarah turns her head to speak into her mic. "Casey, we've got everything under control here. How's it going on your end?"

After listening for a second or two, she says, "Good. I'll send Morgan as we planned."

She turns to him. "You heard that? Remember the plan?"

Morgan gestures to his ear. "Got it. Report to the security area and, now that Chuck has turned all the cameras back on, monitor the area outside his door and all outside areas."

"Good, Morgan. Remember you'll be our eyes. If you see anything coming from outside, we'll need to know immediately."

He's suddenly very serious, perhaps the most serious she's ever seen him. "Sarah, I know how important this. Don't worry, I won't let you guys down."

Choking her emotions back, she replies, "I know you won't."

"OK, I'm off." As Morgan reaches the door, he turns to ask, "Which way is it, again?"

Smiling a little, Sarah answers, "Right, then left, fourth door on your right."

"Gotcha. See you back here later." And with that, he's gone.

Turning to Ellie and Devon, she requests, "Since you're staying here anyway, could you please take a look at Agent O'Reilly? I tried to avoid inflicting any serious damage, but I can't always control the outcome.

Devon responds, "Sure, we'll take care of him." Taking a knee, he picks up the man's wrist, starts to take his pulse.

"And, Ellie, please text Chuck and inform him of the latest developments."

Nodding, Ellie walks over and, before Sarah can react, takes her into a tight hug, whispering into the surprised agent's ear, "I hate to sound like Morgan, but that was incredible. I don't believe I've ever seen you quite so fierce."

Sarah whispers back, "I'll tell you a secret. It's all about the motivation."

"I know." Ellie then disengages, backing away a few steps, says determinedly, "Now, go and get our boy!"

…

As the two tall women walk rapidly down the corridor, Karen glances Sarah's way, wondering if she should ask, especially considering the focused intensity she sees in the agent's expression. In the end, her curiosity overcomes her hesitation.

"Sarah, I assume you had a regular pistol you could've used when you were dealing with O'Reilly. Right?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you then?"

"Karen, you never pull a gun unless you're prepared to use it."

The nurse mulls that over that for a moment.

"So that means you weren't?"

Sarah, looking straight ahead, doesn't answer for a few seconds.

"Yes."

"Do you mind me asking why?"

There's only silence. So Karen, thinking she's overstepped, starts to apologize. "I'm sorry, Sarah, that's none of my business. It's just that earlier, you were quite vehement about how you'd deal with anyone who tried to stop us tonight. But you don't have to explain—"

"No. It's OK, I don't mind telling you that I was a little surprised with myself back there."

She turns to the nurse, then says, smiling a little, "It's all Chuck's damn fault. He prefers to avoid the use of deadly, or even excessive force, if at all possible. I guess his preferences have sorta rubbed off on me."

Karen nods. "You respect his stance, don't you? Or is it that you can't stand the thought that you might disappoint him?"

Looking a little embarrassed, Sarah quietly replies, "Probably a little bit of both."

Then the agent's expression hardens. "But don't think that means I'll hesitate, even for a fraction of a second, to do whatever it takes to protect him and the ones he loves."

Karen looks intently into Sarah's eyes. "Never thought you would." She pauses. "You're quite the woman, Sarah Walker. It's easy to see why Chuck cares for you so deeply."

Sarah blushes, then quickly changes the subject.

"Let's get back to the matter at hand. How many more staff members are there?"

"There will be a nurse at the station coming up on our left. Should be two, but one called in sick."

Sarah nods. "Good. And after that?"

"Six doors down, on our right is the imaging room. One person there. Then, two doors past that is the lab. One there as well."

"OK. I'll go and tranq them."

"Sarah, the nurse might see you coming, set off an alarm, maybe. Even if she doesn't, you know it'll take a lot longer that way. So, how about I do this instead?"

Karen then lays out her plan.

Sarah shakes her head, "Nope. Up to now, you've had plausible deniability. None of us will tell and Chuck's made sure none of the cameras are recording. But if you do this, they'll know you were involved somehow."

"That's alright, Sarah. It's a risk I'm prepared to take."

She looks at the nurse, thinking for few seconds. "Hold on. I've got an idea."

After the agent informs her of the suggested alterations, Karen asks, "Do you think that'll help?"

Sarah shrugs her shoulders. "Couldn't hurt."

"OK, then. I'm off." The nurse turns and, as she heads down the hallway, hears the quiet, "Thank you, Karen," from behind her.

…

Hearing someone approach, the brunette nurse raises her head from the novel she's reading on her Kindle.

"Oh, hi, Karen. How's the patient down in the ER?"

Karen's words come out in a bit of a rush. "Hi, Monica. Bit of a false alarm. Thordason suspects the patient might have a mild case of appendicitis. Not the acute case the EMTs thought. The guy apparently has a very low pain threshold. The intercom in the ER is flaky for some reason, so she sent me ahead to brief the techs."

Monica looks at her friend closely. "You OK? You sound kinda wound up."

Karen lets out a nervous sounding short laugh. "I'm fine. Just too much coffee."

After a second or two, Monica nods. "OK. Thordason going to operate?"

"Depends on the tests. Which is why I need to talk with the techs. Could you summon them for me, please?"

"Sure thing." Monica places her Kindle on the desk, picking up the phone.

She presses one button then another. Appearing puzzled, she looks back at Karen and says, "Intercom's not working here either."

"Could you please go down and get them yourself? I'll put a call into the maintenance department while you're gone."

"OK, Karen. Be right back."

A minute or two later, Monica walks back toward her station, two technicians in tow. She sees Karen's standing by the desk, her cellphone to her ear.

"Karen, here are the techs you wanted to…"

Her voice tapers off as a woman in black rises from behind the desk.

'Who are you?"

"Not important." Raising a pistol, she politely requests, "I need your cellphones, please.

One of the techs, a short woman, shrilly protests, "No way. I just paid an arm and a leg for this phone and there's no way in hell I'm—"

Sighing a little, Sarah fires a dart into the woman's neck and watches as she collapses to the floor.

"I really don't have time for this."

Monica and the other tech, goggle-eyed, quickly place their phones on the desk.

"Thank you. She'll be fine in few hours."

Sarah's voice is stern, her countenance deadly serious as she addresses the blond nurse.

"You see, Karen, that, as I promised, no one's been hurt. So maybe next time you'll believe me. If you cooperate, there's no reason why you can't come out of this unharmed. However, if you don't…"

Karen replies, nervously, "Yes, Agent Walker. I'll cooperate from now on."

"That's good." She turns to the two women standing before her and, pointing at the unconscious lab tech laying on the floor, she orders, "Retrieve her phone and put it with the others." Both of them kneel down, the tech quickly finding the phone in one of the woman's jacket pockets. She places it quickly on the desk.

"Both of you need to drag her into that room over there. Now. I'm going to lock you in there, but trust me, it'll only be a couple of hours before this place is swarming with people looking for us. Just tell them everything you know."

After they obediently follow Sarah's instruction, she again breaks off the inside handle of the door.

Sarah and Karen move away from the door, speaking quietly.

"Good acting job, Karen. You sounded pretty frightened. There's a decent chance they'll believe that you're an unwilling accomplice."

Karen grins. "Not difficult, Sarah. Even though we're on the same side, you tend to be a little terrifying when you're in the groove."

Sarah chuckles. "OK. I need you to wait here while Casey and I go and get Chuck."

"I think I should—"

"No time for arguments. I'm not dragging you into a situation that could get dangerous. I'll also able to work better not having to worry about your safety."

Karen nods firmly. "Got it."

The agent turns her head to the lapel mic. "Morgan, I need you to text Chuck and tell him we're only a couple of minutes away. Inform him that the guard outside his door is the only one that still needs to be secured, and that he should be prepared to leave as soon as we do so. Got that?"

Karen watches as Sarah listens to Morgan's reply. "No, Morgan, anything else I want to say to Chuck can wait until we're face to face. I'll contact you in a minute or two."

Sarah unclips her mic, then strips off the bulky EMT uniform jacket, revealing a black tank top under a double shoulder holster, a pistol on each side.

Sarah almost looks embarrassed as she mumbles, "Don't usually use this type of rig. Just needed to carry two guns tonight."

"Wow! You remind me a lot of Sarah Connor in that getup."

"Who?"

"You know, from the Terminator. Schwarzenegger." Karen adds in a deep voice, 'I'll be back.'"

Sarah just stares blankly.

Karen shakes her head, chuckling. "Don't worry about it. Perhaps another time."

"OK." After clipping her mic onto one of the shoulder straps, she hands Karen the jacket. "Careful, there's a pistol in the right pocket. Best if you don't touch it."

"Don't worry. No intention of doing so."

Sarah takes a deep breath. "We'll be back in a few minutes with Chuck."

As the agent turns to leave, the nurse says, softly, "Sarah."

She turns. "Yes, Karen?"

For a brief moment, Karen is tempted to tell her what she'd told Chuck last night, about how and why she'd so quickly developed a deep fondness, maybe even a love, for this amazing young woman standing before her. But then she realizes this isn't the time or place.

Instead, she simply says, "Please take care, OK?"

"I will. I'm not going to let anything bad happen."

"I know."

Karen watches as Sarah, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders set determinedly, strides purposefully down the corridor.

And, for not the first time, Karen finds herself relieved to know that they're on the same side.

…

"Casey, what's your status?"

"Walker, I'm in the north corridor, round the corner from Chuck's room, about fifty feet away from it."

"Good, I'm on my way. Morgan, any changes?"

"Nope. Outside's dead as a doornail. The guard outside Chuck's room looks alert, but doesn't appear to be worried about anything. He's sitting down right now."

"OK. Unless it's important, really important, don't contact us for the next few minutes. Don't need the distraction."

"Gotcha. Shutting up."

…

Using a small dentist's mirror, Casey is checking out the dead end corridor that contains Chuck's room, when hears Walker's voice in his ear.

"Casey, I'm almost at your position. Don't shoot me by mistake, OK?"

"Don't worry, Walker. I would've heard you coming in any case. CIA always did a crap job of training you guys to sneak up on someone."

He hears a snort. "Roger that."

A few seconds later, she quietly joins him, so quietly that, contrary to his jibe, she _would've_ been able to sneak up on him if he hadn't been watching for her.

"What have we got?"

"A situation we wouldn't have had if O'Reilly had been in the security room as he was supposed to be. What the hell happened down there?"

"Tranq gun misfired. Had to take him out the old-fashioned way." She holds up her hands, both of which show the signs of fisticuffs.

"Well, this would have been a lot easier if he was in a condition to give out the orders we directed him to."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

He looks at her for a second or two, then continues, "So what we do have, as Morgan said, is the guard, Nilan's his name, by the way, sitting down right now. Looking a little tired, but I wouldn't bet on him not being alert."

She nods. "You said about fifty feet from this corner to Chuck's room?"

"Yeah, about that."

Sarah mulls that over. "Long shot for a tranq pistol."

"Thinking the same thing."

"Can't use flash-bangs. Too much of a chance they'll start a fire."

He grunts his assent.

"No way we can sneak up him."

"No."

"Think we could talk him down?"

Casey shrugs his shoulders. "Hard to tell. He's young. All too often, that means stupid. Stubborn about his duty. I recall that I was kinda black and white at his age."

Sarah raises an eyebrow. "You mean more than now?"

He growls. "Enough with the snark."

She chuckles softly.

"OK, the way I see it we have two options. We either talk him into handing over Chuck. Or we try for the tranq shot. If both of us shoot from here, there's a decent chance we'll hit him."

He looks at her long and hard. "Walker, you know as well as I that there's a third option. Just step around the corner, gun raised. Fifty feet is an easy kill shot. He wouldn't even have the chance to get out of his chair before he's put down."

"He's one of your guys, Casey."

"Well aware of that, thank you," is his slightly sarcastic reply.

"But you're still prepared to do it?"

"Not necessarily. Just putting it out there."

Seeing her frown, he adds, "Don't try and tell me you haven't thought of it yourself."

After a second to two, she nods, jerkily. "Yeah, I have. But I don't want to go there unless we're left with no other possible option."

"Same here. But if it comes down to it, I'm taking the shot, not you."

Sarah looks at partner closely, recognizing all the profound implications of his simple statement.

She shakes her head. "Sorry, Casey. Can't let you do that."

He grunts. "And just how do you plan on stopping me, Walker?"

"Stopped you pretty good in the Wienerlicious that one time, if I recall."

"You didn't stop me. Just made a tactical withdrawal."

Sarah snorts. "Sure, we'll go with that."

He looks her in the eye and, quietly, but very seriously, says, "Sarah, if it comes to that, I stay here, turn myself in after you guys are away clean."

Choking a little, she says, "John, you can't—"

"Yes, Sarah, I can and will if that's what needs to be done. The kid's done his duty, doesn't deserve to have his brain scrambled again. And you two deserve a chance." He grunts. "Hell, inside of two months, I'd rule any prison they'd send me to anyway. Then you could mail me postcards from the Maldives or Madagascar or wherever the hell you aren't."

She's momentarily unable to speak.

She clears her throat, tries to inject lightness into her tone as she says, "No way, Casey. Do you have any idea how exorbitant the postage rates are from places like that?" She pauses, looking straight into his eyes. "I'm afraid the cost would just be too great."

He looks right back. "Alright, Walker, what have you got instead?'

"How about a fourth option?"

…

Agent Chris Nilan glances down at his watch. Yawning, he's disappointed to see he still has another two hours to go.

Wondering what all the earlier confusion was about, he glances towards the radio mic mounted on his shoulder, half expecting to be told that the situation has changed again. Would have been nice to have some actual excitement. Staying awake has been the biggest challenge he's faced on this assignment so far.

Thinking of that, he hopes no one saw the massive yawn he'd just let out. His ass will be in a sling if O'Reilly caught it.

Standing up, he tries to shake some the drowsiness off. As he does so, a figure appears from around the corner of the adjoining corridor, startling him.

Nilan has no difficulty in recognizing the big man walking slowly towards him, his hands in the air, his holster empty.

The guard's hand moves to his pistol, but doesn't draw it quite yet. "Stop right there, Major Casey. You know you're not allowed to be here."

The man obeys, stopping about twenty feet away. "Yes, Agent Nilan, I'm aware of that. Why do think I decided to show up anyway?"

Surprised that the man knows his name, it's a second or two before he replies, "Doesn't matter, sir. General Beckman made it quite clear that, under no circumstances, were you to have contact with Agent Carmichael."

"Aren't you a least a little curious why she gave those orders?"

Even though he _is_ curious, Agent Nilan shakes his head. "No need for me to know, sir."

Casey looks at the young man appraisingly. "I'm going to tell you anyway. Agent Carmichael and I have worked together for the last three years. He's a good man, one who's served his country well. A man that I'm proud to call a friend. But now, General Beckman is proposing to subject him to a procedure which, if it succeeds, will make him, in her opinion, at least, even more valuable. The problem is that this procedure will likely trash his mind, or at the very least, alienate him from the people who care for him."

He pauses. "Does that sound right and fair to you, Agent Nilan?"

"My opinion isn't relevant, sir. Besides, how do I know you're telling the truth? The General's orders might have been put in place to protect him from you. Perhaps you plan to eliminate him for some reason of your own."

"Son, if Beckman had believed that, you would've had orders to shoot on sight."

Casey pauses. "And you'd be dead already."

The guard gulps at the chilling, brutally casual declaration, but can't help think that the Major is making sense.

Even so, he has his orders. "I'm going to call for backup, sir. Please don't come any closer."

His hands still clearly visible, the Major replies, "Go ahead. I'll stay right here."

Clicking the transmit button on his radio, he says, while keeping his eyes fixed on the man before him, "Agent O'Reilly, come in please."

There's nothing but crackling static in reply.

"Agent O'Reilly, come in please."

Nothing.

There's a note of panic in his voice now. "Any guard on this frequency, please come in."

Again, there's no response.

Seeing the smirk on Casey's face, he asks, a little shakily, "What did you do?"

"Just tranqued them. Except for a headache, they'll all be fine in a couple of hours. Well, O'Reilly may have a concussion as well."

Nilan's eyes dart around, looking helplessly for assistance from some quarter, but knows there's none forthcoming.

Echoing his thoughts, Casey earnestly says, "You're on your own now. All we want is to take our friend from here. Just let us do that, and no one will get hurt."

Nervously, Agent Nilan asks, "There's more than one of you?"

"Did I forget to mention that? Yes, Agent Walker is behind me. She has you in her sights," he steps to the side, revealing the tall woman at the corner fifty feet away, pistol pointed straight at the guard, "right about now."

Nilan's eyes are drawn irresistibly to her, knowing from her reputation that he'll be dead in a heartbeat if he's not very careful.

"Is it worth dying for, son?"

Tearing his eyes away from her, the guard sees that, somehow, from somewhere, the Major has produced a pistol and is aiming it his way.

"Just going to tranq you. No shame in that. You've done your duty."

But the guard suddenly does feel shame, imagines giving in when the only consequences to refusing would be a two-hour nap. So, in a moment of bravery (or stupidity), instead of meekly submitting, he throws himself against the door of the room he's been guarding. He feels the impact of the tranq dart, but fortunately, it hits his collar insignia, deflecting it who knows where. Plunging through the doorway, he draws his sidearm. Once inside, he rolls to his feet, letting the door close behind him, his weapon covering the entrance.

Sarah is already sprinting as fast as she can, reaching the room only seconds after the door closes, icy panic in her gut.

She shouts, shrilly, "Damnit, Casey! How could you have missed? He's in there with Chuck! What if Beckman gave a kill order?!"

"I did hit him, Walker. It must've glanced off something."

She opens her mouth to berate him again, when abruptly there's the sound of a gunshot from within the room, somewhat muffled by the closed door.

"NO!"

Her scream is primal, gut-wrenching, heart-rending.

 _No. Please, God, no. Please, please. Not now. Not when we were so close._

She has a sudden, terrifying vision of Chuck, bleeding out as he lies on the floor, perhaps calling her name. So without thinking, she slams herself against the door, distantly hearing Casey's impassioned, "Sarah! No!", but paying him no mind. All she knows is that she has to get to Chuck, so is heedless of whatever danger might await her on the other side. With no conscious awareness of how it got there, she finds her S&W in her hand, knowing that, this time, there will be no thoughts of mercy.

She keeps low, throwing herself to one side as she goes through the doorway, hoping to avoid the guard's fire. Not that she gives a damn about her personal well-being, it's just that she needs to stay around long enough to finish him.

And Beckman.

What happens after that is of no real consequence. After all, if he's gone, her life is over.

She orients herself, surprised, shocked, that there are no bullets being directed her way. Seeing, in the shadows of the dimly lit room, a man standing over a body on the floor, she brings her pistol around, aims center mass, her finger, however, outside the trigger guard until she's sure of her target.

"Sarah! It's me! Don't shoot!"

The voice that she'd thought she'd never hear again, brings her back from the edge, her almost berserker-like rage abruptly fading.

Though she can see his face, hear his voice, she's unsure whether to trust her senses.

Her arms fall to her sides, her S&W slipping from her grasp to the floor. Even to her own ears, her voice sounds pathetic and weak. "Chuck…is that you? How…? I thought you…"

He's puzzled, but then it dawns on him. "Did you think…no, no, Sarah. He didn't shoot at me, didn't even notice me when he plowed in here. He was covering the door and I knew I couldn't take the chance that he'd shoot if you guys came through, so I knocked him out with this," he holds up the bent and broken tablet, "on the back of his neck like I saw you do once, except all that you had to use was your hand. His gun went off when he hit the floor. The bullet went over there somewhere." He gestures vaguely toward the washroom.

"You're alright? You're not hurt?" she beseeches, her voice tremulous as she swipes away her tears.

"Well, I twisted my wrist a bit when I klonked him, but other than that I'mmmbfmff-"

He doesn't get the chance to finish, because suddenly, somehow, she's right there, urgent, his head in her hands, up on her toes, laughing, sobbing, kissing frantically, clinging desperately.

He's stunned, staggered by this unbridled outpouring of emotion. Overwhelmed to the point that he doesn't immediately respond to the sudden, unexpected revelation of this raw, starkly unadorned, passionate core of the woman he's loved for so long.

Chuck knows that she loves him, beyond the shadow of a doubt. But, what he hadn't understood, right up until this very moment, is just how much Sarah _needs_ him as well. The whole needing thing, he'd always figured, had been kind of a one-way street.

It's clear that he was wrong.

Very wrong.

And wronger still, to stand there like a dolt, not doing everything he can to convince her that he's not going anywhere.

So, dropping the wrecked tablet, he leans in, wraps his arms around her waist, quickly, gently pulls her close, and kisses her gently, pouring every bit of reassurance he possesses into it.

When she pulls back to look up into his eyes, he murmurs, "Hey, Sarah, I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

She nods, smiling through her tears. "You promise?"

Laying his hand on his chest, he replies, very seriously, "Cross my heart and-"

She raises an eyebrow. "You'd better not finish that sentence, mister."

"Yeah. Well, you know what I mean."

She nods, but then, suddenly angry, chastises him. "Chuck, what the hell were you thinking when you went after the guard? He could have shot you. You've got to stop doing things like that!"

He retorts, "Maybe I wasn't thinking, but how could I just stand by and wait for him to shoot if you were to barrel in through the door? _Like you did, by the way._ Maybe not the smartest thing I've seen you do."

She flushes, but before she has a chance to reply, they hear Casey's voice, "He's got you there, Walker."

They both turn to see the Major standing only a few feet away. It's clear the man had been close on Sarah's heels when she entered the room, but neither had noticed him until just now.

She replies, "Well, Casey, if it was such a stupid idea, what are you doing here?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he answers, "I figured that even if he got you, he wouldn't have the chance to shift targets before I got him back. Safe enough. Besides, even if that dumb move didn't cost you, I figured you would've been too distracted by your boy toy to secure the area. Seems I was right."

Sarah notices that he's already retrieved the guard's pistol, then watches as Casey fires a dart into the unconscious man's neck.

"OK, now we're secure. You two ready to move or do I need to give you more time to sort out your lady feelings?"

"No, I'm ready. You got everything, Chuck?"

"Yep." Glancing down at the damaged tablet, he says, a little sadly, "Gonna miss that thing, though. Did you know that it had a complete operating system on it, not just some dumbed down version? That's what made it possible to do what I had to do."

She pats his cheek, smiling. "I'll buy you a new one, you big nerd."

He brightens at that. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Later. We need to get going."

He takes her hand and they walk toward the door, only to be stopped by Casey's, "Your piece, Walker."

"Oh!" Chagrined, she disengages her hand, walks over and picks up her S&W where she'd dropped it, and slips it into her holster.

Returning to Chuck's side, she takes his hand and says, "OK, now we're ready."

As the door closes behind them, Chuck leans in and quietly says, "Do you know how much you look like Sarah Connor right now."

Exasperated, she replies, "I keep hearing that. Who's Sarah Connor?"

...

Karen, pacing back and forth in front of the nurse's station, looks at her watch for the tenth time, wondering where they are.

She'd heard a muffled thump a few minutes ago, thought it could have been a gunshot. Her immediate impulse had been to run to the scene and help out if she could. But then she'd remembered Sarah's admonition and stayed put.

If they don't show up soon, though, she's going to go anyway. She just can't stand idly by if someone's hurt. Glancing at her watch again, Karen decides that enough is enough, so starts walking, almost running toward Chuck's room.

She's halfway down the corridor when she sees the three of them come around the corner, Casey in the lead, Chuck and Sarah, holding hands, a few feet behind. It's the first time the nurse has seen the two of them together, and her immediate thought is that she's never seen two people so clearly smitten with each other.

As they come closer, Chuck leans close and whispers something in his companion's ear, and Sarah blushes, slapping his chest with her free hand.

It appears that none of them are hurt, but that doesn't stop Karen from anxiously inquiring, "What took so long? Is everyone OK? I thought I heard a gunshot."

Casey answers, "You did. Don't worry, no one was hit." He uses his thumb to point to the couple behind him. "Just had trouble getting these two to stop making goo-goo eyes at each other long enough to get them moving." Looking over his shoulder, he says, "Walker, I'll head back to the ER and gather up the crew. We'd better get to the safe house, pronto."

Sarah nods. "We'll be along in a minute."

Grunting, he walks away.

"Karen, we'll have to part company here," Sarah says, a little sadly.

The nurse, equally saddened, replies, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Tranquing you will be the best option. It'll be more convincing than just locking you up somewhere."

Karen gulps. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Remember what we discussed?"

"Yes. They'll probably be suspicious of me, so be careful what I do and say. My phones, computers and home will probably be monitored and I might be followed."

"Good, Karen. Don't trust anyone." Sarah grins. "Except us, of course."

Karen grins back. "Of course. And I do remember the communication protocols we've set. But only for emergencies."

"Good. We'll contact you after we sort things out."

Sarah steps in, takes the nurse in her embrace, hugs her tightly, her voice a little choked, "Thank you, Karen. We couldn't have done this without you. You've helped both of us in so many ways, not just tonight. I don't think it'll come to that, but, if we don't see you again, I want you to know that we'll never forget you. And we'll be eternally grateful."

The nurse blinks back her tears as Sarah steps back and Chuck takes her place, hugging her closely. "Thank you so much. Remember you'll always have us as friends. If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, contact us and we'll be there." He steps away, grinning. "Assuming, of course, that we're not all locked up in a bunker somewhere."

"Chuck!" Sarah slaps him on the shoulder.

Still grinning, he says, "Oh! Before we go, Karen, I'd like to introduce you to Sarah."

"Chuck, we've already met."

"No, Karen. You've met Sarah the friend, Sarah the agent, but you haven't met my Sarah, the Sarah that I'll be spending the rest of my life with."

He turns to the woman so close beside him, asking softly, "If you'll have me?"

Sarah's surprise is clear, but it only takes a moment for her to recover and, smiling through her tears, nods her assent.

And Karen Green, swiping her own tears away, just smiles as she takes in the sight of the two of them.

…

General Beckman sighs once again as she closes the cover of the incident report.

An entire security team incapacitated. Walker and Casey had gone through them like a hot knife through butter. Surprisingly, aside from a couple of mild concussions and a broken nose, there were no injuries. In fact, there had only been the one harmless gunshot, apparently accidental.

There's no doubt in the General's mind that their success was, at least, partially due to some inside help, Nurse Green, almost certainly.

She has no proof, as all the witnesses had felt the nurse was an unwilling participant. However, even though Karen had been found, tranqued, in one of the corridors, Beckman was convinced it was all just a con job.

So much so, that she'd interrogated the nurse personally. However, even when threatened with the loss of her job and pension (and hints of even more drastic measures), the woman had adamantly refused to answer her questions.

In the end, Diane had to drop it, but resolved to carry through with the surveillance plan she'd formulated the night before.

Chuck Bartowski's gone, of course. Not a trace of him or the rest of them. Anywhere. It's like they dropped off the face of the planet.

The ambulance had been found ten miles away, abandoned on some country backroad with no traffic cams. The forensic crew said that the fugitives hadn't even bothered to wipe the vehicle clean. Beckman had recognized it for what it was; a challenge.

 _Catch us if you can._

When the phone call had awakened her early this morning, she'd somehow known, even before answering, that it had to do with Bartowski. Subconsciously, it seemed she'd been waiting for something to happen. So, when her aide informed her that they'd been unable to contact the hospital, it'd hardly come as a surprise.

Beckman had ordered a rapid response team to the scene, fully aware that they'd arrive much too late. Still, she had to go through the motions.

As the reports had come in, the General had wondered if she shouldn't have bolstered the security detail, but quickly realized it wouldn't have made any real difference. Even if she'd doubled it, it would've simply taken the two of them a few minutes longer to take them out. Besides, she'd pretty much pushed the limits on how many resources she could throw at an off-the-books operation such as this.

Beckman knows that questions will be asked. Ones that she knows she'll have trouble answering without implicating herself in this fundamentally illegal action she had been prepared to carry out.

The only good thing to come out of this is that since Bartowski was unharmed, it was much less likely that Walker and Casey will actually come after her. Especially now, as they're likely somewhere halfway across the country by this point.

Diane yawns, suddenly realizing how tired she is. It's been a long, trying day. Time to get some sleep and tackle the fallout tomorrow when she's fresh.

Pressing the button, she says, "Clarissa, please have my car brought around to the basement entrance. I'm going to head home."

"Yes, General. Is there anything else you need tonight?"

"No, you can take off. I'll be in at 0800 tomorrow."

"Goodnight, General."

"Goodnight, Clarissa."

Five minutes later Beckman stands, groaning a bit as she shovels the appropriate files into her briefcase, then heads out the door. The outer office is quiet and darkened, hardly surprising considering the late hour.

Stepping out into the corridor, she acknowledges the guard on the door, then heads to the secure elevator. Punching in the code, she heads for the basement. Exiting the elevator, she nods to the on-duty guard.

The guard opens the door for her, and Diane sees her Town Car twenty feet away.

Lost in thought, she takes only vague notice of her driver opening the back door for her, that is until the man speaks in a familiar, but completely unexpected, voice.

"Good evening, General."

Shocked, she looks up into the man's face.

Major John Casey, smiling pleasantly at her. Diane knows enough of the man's character to realize that expression doesn't bode well for her.

She fights hard to regain her composure.

 _Never let them know you're afraid._

"Good evening, Major. How are you tonight?"

"I'm fine. Had a very good day. How was yours?"

"Truthfully? Not one of my better ones."

"Well, maybe a little drive will make things better."

"I somehow doubt that, John."

Grunting, he gestures toward the back seat, and Beckman, knowing there's nothing for it, steps in and seats herself, staring rigidly straight in front of her.

The Major closes the door behind her, then slides into the driver's seat.

As the car starts to move, Beckman finally turns, is completely unsurprised to see Sarah Walker, dressed in black, sitting only a couple of feet away.

She gives Beckman a look for a second or two, then says, without any preamble, "I heard that your day hasn't been a particularly good one."

"Correct. I seem to have misplaced something of great potential value."

"Isn't that odd? This very same day I've managed to retrieve something of the utmost value to me."

"Utmost value, Agent Walker? Are you certain of that?"

Nodding, she replies, "Completely. There's nothing in this world that I treasure more. Keeping him safe and near me takes precedence over anything else. Anything." Her icy glare suddenly makes Diane shiver. "Do you understand?"

Somehow, she manages, barely, to keep the quaver out of her voice as she replies, "Yes." But then, suddenly sensing an opening, she firms up her voice and says, sarcastically, "Yes, I'm beginning to understand that the great Agent Walker, the Wildcard Enforcer, has compromised herself, all for the sake of a man like Chuck Bartowski."

If Diane had hoped that she was going to score a hit with this, she's quickly disabused by the calm, little smile on Sarah's face.

"General, it all depends on how you and I understand that word. You see my actions as evidence that I've been corrupted. To the point that I'm willing to turn my back on something good, noble and just, simply to satisfy my selfish, even base, desires."

She pauses for a moment, makes sure she has the General's full attention before going on, "But I see my actions as essentially the opposite. I'm turning _to_ something good, noble and just. And turning my back on the often corrupt, illegal and immoral actions that I've carried out through the years."

She smiles. "If you accept my definition of the word, then, yes, I admit to being totally and completely compromised."

Beckman sneers, "So you're turning your back on your country. You'll no longer defend it?"

Sarah replies calmly, seemingly unfazed by Beckman's attack. "No, I'm not saying that. I simply will no longer do it the way you, and others like you, want me to do it. I can't accept being under the command of someone who would be willing to destroy a good man like Chuck Bartowski, just so you could have your precious Intersect."

Realizing an attack posture isn't going to cut it, Beckman puts a note of pleading in her voice. "But, Sarah, you know as well as I do that the needs of the many—"

Sarah cuts her off, grinning a little. "Don't try using Star Trek philosophy on me, General. I can assure you that after spending the last three years in the company of a nerd like Chuck, I know the pros and cons of such notions much better than you."

Frustrated at every turn, Diane inquires, "So why are you here, Sarah? Did you think you could deal with this issue simply by killing me?"

The agent is calm, her voice quiet as she replies, "You'd think that the Sarah Walker that Graham created, the Sarah that ones like him used for their purposes, would do just that."

She pauses. "Put a bullet in your brain and dump your body in a ditch somewhere."

The words are spoken dispassionately, with no more feeling than one would use when speaking of swatting a fly.

It's absolutely chilling.

"But you know what the irony is, General?"

Diane shakes her head uncertainly.

"You would have actually been completely safe if that Sarah Walker was here right now. Do you know why?"

She pauses again, this time obviously waiting for a verbal reply.

"No, why?" Diane, answers, her voice a little shaky.

"Because that Sarah was incapable of truly feeling anything for an asset, or almost any human being, for that matter. That Sarah would've have agreed with what you planned to do with the man. Would've said it was an idea worth pursuing. And if it didn't work, oh well, it wouldn't have been the first asset that got burned uselessly. And it certainly wouldn't be the last."

The agent stares off into the distance as she goes on, "You see, that Sarah Walker viewed matters much the way you do. Do whatever is necessary for the greater good. And even if you feel a twinge of conscience, you push it aside, bury it deep down inside you. After all, people like Chuck Bartowski are just interchangeable pieces to be used and disposed of as needed."

Abruptly she brings her eyes back the General. "Isn't that right, Diane?"

Beckman can only swallow loudly, afraid to reply.

"There's no need to answer, General. It was merely rhetorical."

She smiles, a grim one. "But, by now, I'm sure you've realized that Sarah Walker isn't here in this car with you. This Sarah, the one right here, right now, is far more dangerous than you can possibly imagine."

She leans in closer, says quietly, "Because this Sarah now has motivation. Something that's truly worth fighting for. Yes, she's a different person, a better person, a happier person, because of him. But don't make the mistake of thinking, even for a second, that the old Sarah is gone. She simply lies dormant, waiting to be called on, her abilities intact, ready to do whatever is needed to protect Chuck Bartowski and the life I'm going to have with him.

"Whatever. Is. Needed. A few minutes ago, you said you understood that. But I don't believe you truly did. I hope I've managed to clear up any misconceptions on your part?"

Beckman nods, jerkily.

"I can't hear you, Diane."

"Yes, Sarah. You're perfectly clear."

"That's good. Now I need to ask you a question, Diane, one that I expect an honest answer to. Can you do that for me?"

She stalls. "What question?"

"What were you planning to do if Chuck hadn't voluntarily taken on the Intersect again?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Please, General. You're not fooling anyone. You wouldn't have left it at that. By the way, don't be concerned about how you answer. It won't change the outcome of our little conversation. That was decided before I came here tonight."

"How's that?"

"Well, if you'd actually carried out whatever you'd planned, you would already be dead. But you didn't, so that's in your favor. Even so, a part of me was still seriously considering the ditch option until my fiancé took me aside and made me promise not to harm you."

Beckman is shocked. "Fiancé?!"

Sarah grins. "Yes. Did I forget to mention that I got engaged this morning? Sorry about that. You wouldn't think that a hospital corridor would be a very romantic setting, but I thought it was pretty much perfect. We haven't had the chance to shop for a ring yet, so I guess your mistake is understandable. Anyway, that's a big part of the reason I'm in such a magnanimous mood this evening."

"You're engaged to Chuck Bartowski?" Beckman's asks, still incredulous.

"Yes. I'm surprised that you're surprised. I thought it would have been perfectly obvious."

"I was aware you liked him, but agreeing to marry a geek like—"

"Nerd."

"What?"

"Nerd. He doesn't like to be called a geek. I learned that the very first time I met him. Again, I find myself surprised you didn't know that. Now, please stop trying to avoid the question. What were your plans? Chuck mentioned something about Wyoming and Summer Crest, but he clearly didn't know exactly what you were planning."

Beckman pauses for a few seconds, then reluctantly says, "Just yesterday, my techs felt they had finally come up with a way make Summer Crest fully functional. We would then be able to forcibly implant a completely false identity in Chuck's mind. He would be, for all intents and purposes, Charles Carmichael, with no memories of Chuck Bartowski. He would then take on the Intersect voluntarily. We'd planned to ship him off to Caspar to keep him out of the way while we used him."

Sarah's voice is eerily calm. "I see. How did you plan to cover up his disappearance?"

"Hospital fire. Substitute corpse. Altered medical records. Nothing we haven't done before."

"And just when did you plan on implementing this scheme?"

Beckman winces. "Today."

"Ah! It's just as well for your sake, then, that we decided to act last night, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is." Diane pauses, then says, contritely, "I'll have you know that I'm not totally heartless, Sarah. I'd genuinely hoped he'd find a life up there for himself."

The reply is exceedingly dry. "Yes, you're the absolute epitome of compassion."

Turning her head, Sarah asks, "Casey."

"Yeah, Walker?" He looks in the rearview mirror.

"You've been listening to our conversation. Did you catch the part about the promise I made to Chuck, the one about not hurting the General."

"Yeah, I heard what you said."

"Did he ask you to make the same promise?"

"No, as a matter of fact, he didn't."

"Good. That leaves us an option. One that doesn't require me to break my word." She turns back to look at the older woman. "Doesn't it, Diane?"

The General shrinks back into her seat, suddenly afraid.

"You're fortunate that my fiancé is a kind, decent man who tries very hard to find the good in everyone he meets. Do you know that, up to a point, he actually tried to defend your actions, even after all that you'd done to him?"

Sarah sighs. "But I'm frustrated, because as much I try to emulate him in these matters, people like you come along and make me feel that I haven't made any progress whatsoever."

Beckman doesn't say a word.

"I don't like being frustrated. I occasionally do things I regret when I'm frustrated."

The General watches as Sarah takes a few deep breaths, calming herself.

"OK, enough with the preliminaries. Here's what you're going to do.

"First of all, you're going to remunerate Chuck for the last three years he's worked for the government."

"I can't do—"

"I'm going to stop you right there, General, and apologize for somehow giving you the impression that this is a negotiation. I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth."

"And if I refuse? What are you going to do, Sarah? Have Major Casey torture or shoot me? You'll get nothing that way, and, at best, will spend the rest of your life on the run."

She pauses. "Is that really the kind of future you want for you and Chuck? If you do, just go ahead and get it over with."

Sarah looks at her for a few moments, studying her face. "No, General, I knew that the threat of violence was a non-starter in this situation. So we talked it over and came up with what we believe will be a much more effective incentive.

"Were you aware, General, that Chuck Bartowski is one of the foremost hackers in the country?"

Diane is taken aback for a second or two. "No, why wasn't that in his file?"

"Not really important right now. All you need to know is that he's good, very good. It's quite amazing what a man with his talents is capable of digging up. Especially when Casey and I told him where to look."

"You're bluffing."

Sarah smiles, before she leans in close, whispers in the older woman's ear for ten or twelve seconds.

Beckman blanches as Sarah pulls back. "You wouldn't."

"Yes, I would. But that information will never see the light of day if you simply cooperate with our more than reasonable conditions."

Diane slumps back in her seat, defeated.

"Alright. Tell me what you want."

"As I already mentioned, Chuck needs to be paid, handsomely, I might add, for the work he's done for free these past few years."

"OK. Next?"

"Both Casey and myself will retire from our respective agencies with a full pension and a generous retirement package."

"Hold on for a moment. Casey's got his years in, but you're awfully young to retire."

"To quote from one of Chuck's favorite movies, 'It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage'. My 'mileage' in the service of the CIA makes my request quite reasonable."

Beckman replies, begrudgingly, "That one will be more difficult, but OK."

"We're going to start up a freelance cybersecurity slash anti-terrorism firm, so we'll want Castle. Before you say no, we'll only need to keep some of the equipment. What we don't need, you can haul off for use somewhere else."

"Alright. Now that Project Bartowski is done, we don't have a lot of use for it anyway."

"When we're up and running, we'll be offering our services for government contracts. We're not going to ask for any special favors, but we do expect to be treated fairly. I think you'll find our blend of services fairly unique." She smirks. "Who knows, Diane? Someday we may be working together again."

"I doubt that very much. Is that all?"

"No. Now we're coming to the really important ones."

Sarcastically Beckman inquires, "What? Do you want NSA satellite access? A free pass to all secure areas of Fort Meade?"

"No. It's simply this," Sarah calmly replies.

"Call off you dogs. Leave us alone. Let us live our lives the way we choose. Don't try to bully, threaten or coerce us into doing things that we no longer choose to do."

Sarah pauses, makes sure she has the General's attention. "And never, ever, even attempt to harm Chuck, or the ones close to him, in any way, shape or form. If you're ever again tempted to act so foolishly, please remember what I'm capable of and think twice."

The younger woman moves in closer, until her eyes are mere inches away from those of the General. Sarah's voice is low, guttural as she growls, "And remember that, if you don't, I'll be showing considerably less restraint the next time we meet."

Beckman cringes, feels the hairs raising on the back of her neck. She instinctively tries to back away but finds there's no place to go.

Sarah leans back. "Have I made myself sufficiently clear?

Diane nods shakily, incapable of speech.

"Good, General. I'm glad we're on the same page."

Regaining her a bit of her composure, Diane asks, trying to hide her fear, "Are we done yet?"

"Yes. For now. We'll be in touch."

The car pulls over to the side and, when it comes to halt, Casey looks over his shoulder and says, "We've reached the car, Walker."

Sarah turns to Beckman. "We part ways here, General. Your driver is in the trunk and won't be waking up for a least another hour or two. So you'll have to get yourself home from here. Hope your feet can reach the pedals. If not feel free to call anyone you want. In case you haven't noticed, we're kind of in the middle of nowhere, so it'll take a while for anyone to get here, and we'll be long gone by then.

"Goodbye, General." The agent opens the door and steps out. Then, sticking her head back in, she says, "By the way, the wedding's next month. It'll be a small affair, so don't feel bad that you're not invited. Nurse Green, however, is."

Beckman gawks at her. "I knew it! She was in on it, wasn't she?"

Sarah nods. "You would've figured it out at some point. This way you won't have to waste your resources surveilling her. Chuck and I consider her a very close friend, pretty much a member of our family. And you know how I feel about family members. So, I trust that nothing will prevent her from attending?"

"No, I'm sure that'll be fine."

"That's good. I would hate to hear that Karen suffered some sort of career problems after all the years she's spent serving this country."

"No, her record's spotless and will remain so."

Sarah nods. "Diane, I honestly hope that the circumstances will much more pleasant the next time we meet."

As the door closes, General Diane Beckman can't help but hope the same thing.

…

"Chuck, you're going to wear out the carpet if you keep pacing like that."

He stops, looking at his sister. "Sorry, Ellie. It's just that it's been three hours already. What if they got caught? Or worse? Or what if they can't persuade Beckman to go along with our plan?"

Morgan pipes up. "Chuck, you've got nothing to worry about. I don't think anything could stop Sarah when she puts her mind to it."

"You seem awfully sure about that."

"You didn't see her take down that guard in the ER. Man, it was like seeing a live action Black Widow!" He pauses. "Except, of course, Sarah's a blonde." He's pensive for a second, then exclaims, "I know! Black Canary!"

"Two things wrong with that, buddy. First of all, I don't think beating Beckman senseless would actually make things go more smoothly. Secondly, don't ever, ever, tell Sarah that you visualized her as a superhero who wears fishnet stockings and a black bustier."

"Why not? Black Canary's super hot! And Sarah's just as—"

"Take my advice. Just. Don't."

Looking for support, Morgan turns and pleads, "Awesome, will you please back me up on this one?"

Devon booms out, "Yeah, it was pretty sexy the way she..." catching Ellie's glare, his voice tapers off. In a much quieter voice, he adds, "On second thought, Morgan, I'm with the Chuckster on this one."

Realizing he's outnumbered, Morgan capitulates. "OK, OK. I won't say anything to her."

"Good, it's simply for your own safety."

At that moment, there's a chime from Chuck's phone. Quickly fishing it out of his pocket, he looks down at the screen.

Raising his head, he grins. "They're on their way back. And they're both fine."

"That's a relief. Was there anything else?" Ellie asks, smiling back at him.

Chuck blushes a bit. "Yeah, but it's personal."

"Why? Did she send pictures, dude?"

He turns to his friend. "Morg, they're right in the middle of a mission. Sarah's not gonna stop and take pictures of what's going on."

"No, Chuck, I meant a selfie, you know, a risqué one."

"You're kinda weirding me out here, buddy. Since when did you start using words like risqué? And why do think that she would ever take that kind of selfie, let alone while sitting in the front seat of Casey's Crown Vic?"

Morgan replies, defensively, "I just sorta thought that since you guys are finally together, she might loosen up a little. Maybe spice things up."

Shaking his head, Chuck admonishes, "Again, I suggest you keep that to yourself."

Devon stands up, asks, "Hey, Morgan. Before you get yourself in any deeper, why don't you come with me to the kitchen? I think we all could use something to eat after the two of them get back. Help me make some sandwiches, OK?"

"Alright, Aw-," catching Ellie's eye, he instead says, "Devon. Sounds good."

As the two men leave the room, Chuck and Ellie hear Morgan's, "Do you think there's any grape soda?"

Turning to her brother, Ellie quietly asks, with a bit of a smirk, "Chuck, do you expect me to believe that you yourself have never visualized Sarah as some sort of scantily clad superhero?"

"Ellie, don't you think that would be kinda disrespectful?"

"Could be, but that's not the question I asked."

Flushing a little, he replies, "Yeah, OK, once or twice." He then hurriedly adds, "But please don't tell her that."

Grinning, Ellie says, "Don't worry, I won't. But I think she'd find it amusing."

"You really think so?" he asks, sounding disbelieving.

"Yeah, I do. Sarah knows what kind of man you are. You've always been respectful of her so I don't think she'd be upset. You're just human after all."

"Well, don't be disappointed if I don't tell her right away. Or ever, for that matter."

Grinning wickedly, she says, quietly, "I think you should. After all, I suspect she's visualized you in some skimpier outfits as well."

This time, it's a full-on blush. "Ellie!"

...

"Walker, will you stop with the leg thing, already? You're shaking the whole car."

Sarah looks down, realizes she's been bouncing her right leg for the past few minutes.

Chagrined, she replies, "Sorry, Casey."

He grunts. "You antsy about something?"

"Yeah, I guess a little. I just hope Beckman won't try anything stupid."

"Don't worry. I know her better than you do. As far as protecting the country goes, Beckman honestly believes that she's pretty much indispensable. And, to be fair, she does have an excellent track record. So, knowing what we have on her, she won't risk throwing that away just to get back at someone who pulled one over on her."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be."

"OK. Good." She looks out the side window, staring into the night, her leg bouncing again.

Casey sighs. "Alright, Walker. What else is up?"

Turning her head, she replies, flatly, "What makes you think there's something else?"

He nods toward her leg.

Looking down, she blushes, immediately stops the bouncing, but doesn't say anything.

After a couple seconds of silence pass, he orders, "Spill."

Reluctantly, she answers, "It's possible that I may have overstated things a bit with Beckman."

"About what? Going back to get her if she breaks the agreement?"

"No, I'll keep that promise for sure. It's to do with what I said about Chuck being my fiancé."

Biting back a sarcastic retort, he tries to hold back his discomfort with this kind of conversation. He supposes that's what he deserves for getting all touchy-feely earlier.

"OK, what's the problem?"

"I'm not actually sure that we're engaged."

Somewhat against his will, Casey finds himself drawn into the conversation. "How can you not be sure about something like that?"

"In the hospital, he asked that, if I'd have him, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me and I said yes."

"Sounds like a proposal to me, Walker."

"I thought so too, but what if I read too much into it? It's not that I doubt that he loves me, but maybe all he was talking about was for us to be together in more general terms."

"Didn't you guys talk about it?"

She shakes her head. "It's just that we've been so busy with the escape, the reunion and all the hacking he had to do, that we haven't had the chance."

"OK. I got it. So what exactly are you worried about?"

She hesitates, gnawing on her bottom lip. "What if he doesn't want to marry me, Casey?"

Sarah gapes at her partner, taken unaware by the strange sound suddenly coming from his mouth.

Confused, she asks, "Casey, are you laughing?"

After a few seconds, he settles down enough to reply, "You're kidding, right? We weren't two weeks into this assignment before I could see how bad the two of you had it for each other. Especially Bartowski. He was like some lovesick puppy. Hell, he would've asked a long time ago if it hadn't been for the uncanny ability you two had of finding innovative ways to constantly screw things up."

She brightens. "You're sure?"

"Hell, yes. You can bet your boots that Bartowski has no doubts about being engaged."

Smiling, she says, "Thanks, Casey."

"You're welcome."

Then he growls, "But if you ever try and tell anyone we had this little conversation, I'll deny it."

"Duly noted. Now, please get us back to the safe house as quickly as possible."

While his words have done much to reassure her, there's still a sliver of doubt nagging at the back of her mind.

"Chuck and I need to have a little conversation."

...

After quickly swallowing his mouthful of ham and cheese sandwich, Morgan grimaces and says, "You can't be serious, Chuck. You really believe that Picard was a better captain than Kirk?"

"Sorry, Morg. It's just the way I feel about it now that I'm older."

"How could you? Kirk was such a babe magnet and Picard was so old. And bald!"

The two doctors, munching on their own sandwiches, just look on tolerantly as the two of them go at it.

"It's just that—"

Any further conversation is halted as the front door opens and Sarah and Casey enter.

Chuck dumps his plate on the table and, standing quickly, goes to Sarah, taking her in his arms.

He murmurs into her ear, "You OK? I got your text, but I was still worried."

She pulls back a few inches, smiles as she looks up into his face, whispers, "I'm fine, Chuck. But we need to have a little talk. In private."

He gulps. "Did I do something wrong, Sarah?"

"No, not at all. I just need to clear something up. OK?"

Relieved, he nods. "Sure."

Turning to the group, Sarah says, "Chuck and I are going to have a little talk. We'll be back in a bit."

Ellie nods. "We'll save a sandwich for you."

Taking his hand, Sarah leads him down the hallway toward the bedroom at its end.

Behind them, they hear Devon boom out, "Way to go, Chuckster!" followed quickly by Ellie's shocked admonition, "Devon!"

"What?!"

...

Closing the door behind her, Sarah turns to Chuck, who, despite her assurances, still appears nervous.

It's rather ironic because, in truth, she's the one who has an actual reason to be nervous.

Before she has a chance to say anything, he blurts out, "I hope you weren't offended by what Devon thought was going to happen in here."

She has to pause for a second to even remember what Chuck's referring to. "What? No, that's just him. I'm used to it by now. Do feel a bit embarrassed for Ellie sometimes, though."

"Yeah, me too." He studies her face for a second or two. "So, what's up, Sarah?"

Even with Casey's little pep talk fresh in her mind, she suddenly feels her confidence slipping away, so doesn't answer immediately. Instead she leads him to the edge of the bed, where they sit, still holding hands.

Turning her head to look him in the eyes, she quietly says, "Chuck, you asked me something earlier, while we were at the hospital. Something I answered yes to, certain I understood what you were asking. But now, I'm not quite so sure."

"Was it when I asked you if you'll have me?"

"Yes, that's exactly it."

Squeezing her hand, he asks, softly, "What are you unsure about?"

She's hesitant, but then, seemingly of their own volition, the words tumble out in a rapid, uncontrolled torrent. "I believed you were asking me to marry you and that's what I said yes to but perhaps I was being presumptuous because maybe all you were asking me was if I wanted to be with you and of course I want to because I love you and I know you love me and it may be too soon to even think of getting married but I know I want to be with you for the rest of my life too so even if you weren't asking me to marry you I want you to know the answer is still yes and you can stop me anytime because holy hell I'm babbling on like an idiot here—"

Chuck, who'd been staring, stupefied, mouth agape, at this heretofore never seen manifestation of the woman he loves, fortunately has enough remaining wit to understand what he needs to do.

Taking her head gently in his hands, he kisses her tenderly, cutting off her words in mid-stream.

After a few seconds, he pulls back a few inches and, brushing away her tears with his thumbs, quietly says, "Sarah, honey, I'm so sorry. It's my fault. If I'd done it right, you wouldn't have had any doubts that I was asking you to marry me. Damn it, if I'd been smart, I would've taken you to some romantic place and planned out what I was going to say. Not just some spontaneous words in a hospital corridor."

Shaking her head vigorously, she firmly replies, "No, no, Chuck, I loved that it wasn't planned, that it happened because that's what you wanted, right there, right then. It just seemed more...authentic that way."

"So why the doubt?" he quietly asks.

She looks away, gnaws at her bottom lip for a few seconds before replying in a choking, hesitant voice, "Because…because deep down inside, there's a part of me that doesn't really believe that people like me, who've done the things I've done, deserve to be happy. Don't deserve to be with a man as good as you."

Chuck feels his heart lurch empathetically, the sudden tears at the corners of his eyes. But then another emotion spontaneously arises.

An abrupt, almost overwhelming fury. With her father, Graham, Bryce and all the rest whose actions and words have made this extraordinary woman actually believe herself to be so unworthy.

His rage is such that he has to mentally take a deep breath, calming himself so he can reply without her thinking he's actually angry with her.

Pulling her close, he says, "Sarah, I think I understand how you feel." He pauses. "I might even agree if your premise wasn't based on the biggest load of crap I've heard for quite some time."

His sudden vehemence startles her. "What?"

"You heard me. Go ahead, walk out of this room and tell the others what you just told me. You know what they'd say?"

She just meekly shakes her head.

"They'd say, correctly, I might add, that an amazing person like you, one who's led the life you've been forced into, does, in fact, deserve every chance to be happy. And even Ellie, as much as she loves me, would readily admit that I don't fully deserve to have someone as incredible as you in my life."

"But—"

"Sarah. No buts. I hope I've made myself clear on this?"

She nods.

"Good. And, if you're sure you still want me, I'll spend the rest of our lives making sure you know just how marvelous and deserving you truly are and how happy you've made me."

Blinking away new tears, she replies, "Chuck, sweetie, that almost sounds like another proposal."

Grinning, he replies, "Maybe it is. If so, I'm hoping that I'll get the same answer."

Nodding happily, she simply says, "Yes."

"Good. Now that we've cleared that up, when do you want to get married?"

Swiping away her tears, she answers, "I was hoping next month."

He frowns.

Concerned, she asks, "Sorry, sweetie, is that too soon?"

Shaking his head, he replies, smiling, "No, I was thinking maybe tomorrow or the day after. However, I'll gladly bow to your wishes."

"Thank you. I want a small wedding, if that's OK with you?"

"Yes, I thought just family and close friends. But I would also like to invite—"

"Karen," she finishes for him.

He's a little startled. "Yes. How did you know?'

Grinning, she says, "Because we both like her a lot. She's almost like family. Besides, I already told Beckman that she was coming."

"Hang on. Let me get this straight. You've already talked about our wedding plans with Beckman? Before me?" He huffs, a little upset with her.

Placing her hand gently on his cheek, she contritely replies, "I really am sorry, sweetie. It just sorta came up. I had to make sure Beckman understood just how much I care about you and how important you are to me and, therefore, what the consequences would be if she ever forgot that. It was only afterward, when I'd cooled down, that I realized I may have jumped the gun a little. Forgive me?"

After a moment, his expression clears. "Of course. I understand why you needed to tell her."

Then he grins at her, "Man, I would've loved to been a fly on the wall for that conversation. Do you think we're gonna have any trouble with her?"

"No, I'm quite certain we won't. You should've seen the expression on her face when I told her what you'd dug up."

"Yeah?"

"Yup, white as a sheet. After that, she was very cooperative. I honestly believe that once we get Carmichael Industries rolling, she'll be sending some contracts our way."

"We'll see, I guess." Pausing, he adds, "You know, except for the whole lying and trying to trick me into taking on the Intersect thing, a part of me sorta likes her."

Her expression is stern, her words harsh. "You're much more forgiving than I am. We may wind up working with her at some point, but it will take a long time before I trust her again. If ever."

Chuck realizes she'll brook no disagreement on this point, so wisely changes the subject.

"Sarah, this isn't one of your safe houses, is it?"

"No. How did you figure that out?"

He jabs his thumb toward the ceiling. "Didn't think mirrors would be your thing. Very much doubt it's one of Casey's either. So, if I had to guess, I'd say this one belongs to Carina."

Sarah chuckles. "You've got that right. By the way, she's coming too. On a mission in Panama at the moment, but told me she'll be back in time. I believe, 'come hell or high water' was the phrase she used."

"Good. She's kinda terrifying, but deep down, I like her a lot. Also, she's your friend, and I know she means a lot to you. Hopefully, since it's our wedding, she won't try hitting on me."

"Don't bet on it, sweetie. But if we dangle Morgan as bait she may leave you in peace."

He snorts. "Poor Morgan. He'll have to throw himself on a live grenade once again."

Totally deadpan, she remarks, "I doubt he'll complain."

Chuckling, he replies, "I expect not."

"Chuck, there's only one other big thing to decide."

"Where?"

"Uh-huh. There's really only one place, isn't there?"

"Yeah, you're right. Just hope it won't be too cold."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Alright then. We're ready to roll." He glances at his watch. "We'd better get back out there before the rest of them start wondering if Devon had the right idea." Smiling into her eyes, he asks, "You ready to go out and tell them the good news?"

She replies, eagerly, "Yes, Chuck."

He shakes his head sadly. "You poor, pitiable, overly-confident fool. You have no idea what you're about to face, do you?"

"Excuse me?"

"They've been anticipating this day for quite some time now. You're about to see the raw uncut versions of the people you thought you knew. So, before we willingly throw ourselves into the pit, we need to go over the checklist to make sure we're ready. OK?"

She smiles indulgently. "Fire away."

"Ellie's ear-piercing screech and crushing hug."

"Check."

"Devon's palm bruising high fives and totally inappropriate, yet somehow still endearing innuendo."

"Check."

"Morgan's slobbering hug and constant references to some movie slash graphic novel couple that we are just like."

"Check."

"Casey's...grunts, I guess and the possibility that he might actually smile."

"Check."

"OK. We're as prepared as we'll ever be."

"Uh-huh. But, before we go…" She reaches up and musses his hair, and then pulls his shirt out of his pants on the one side. Turning attention to herself she undoes the top three buttons of her black blouse, then deliberately misbuttons it back up. After giving him a sloppy kiss which leaves a lipstick smear around his mouth, she says, "OK. Now we're ready."

In answer to his puzzled expression, she cheekily says, "Might as well give them something to talk about."

Grinning, he says, "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Yup, but that's part of why you so love me so much, right?"

"Absolutely."

Just before they reach the door, Chuck gently spins her around and, taking her gently in his arm, kisses her fervently.

After some time passes, she leans back and asks, smiling at him, "That was nice, but what was it for?"

"For risking your freedom, your life, everything, just to come and get me out of there."

Very softly, but very earnestly, she says, "Chuck, what use would my freedom be, my life be, if I didn't have you beside me?"

There's a long moment of silence, of unspoken understanding, before he utters a quiet, "Thank you."

He leans in as if to kiss her again, but then, before she can stop him, he takes his hands and quickly musses _her_ hair.

" _Now_ , we're ready!"

She just shakes her head, smiling a little at his antics.

As the door closes behind them, he turns to her and says, "Just one more thing. I need you to promise me that you won't kill Morgan if at any time he compares you to the Black Canary."

"Who's that?"

He doesn't answer, just smirks as they walk, hand in hand, towards the living room.

"Charles Irving Bartowski, who the hell is the Black Canary?"

 **THE END.**

—

 _A/N: Except for the Chapter 7 Carmichael, of course. And the epilogue. Yes, just one for two arcs. Whatever could I be planning?_

 _Thank you for reading and patiently waiting for me to finish this thing._


	13. Chapter 7 Carmichael

_A/N: Well, here we are. Finally. The final chapter in this arc. Hopefully, it will meet your approval. I know it's a long one too, but, for some reason, it just didn't feel right to break it up. So sit down, grab a snack and enjoy!_

 _Thanks to my beta, michaelfmx. I doubt I would've have gotten here without his encouragement and suggestions. Any errors you find are mine._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

 _Instead of apologizing (as he should) for his gaffe, he blurts out, "You can call me Chuck._

 _She quirks an eyebrow, and, for a second, it appears she's about to make a comment about that._

 _Instead, she offers her hand, saying, "Hello, Chuck. I'm Samantha Lisa Bartowski."_

 _She smiles. "But you can call me Sam."_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS**

 **Chapter 7 Carmichael**

The memory is intense, powerful, and so persistent that, for a moment, Chuck has trouble discerning which woman is the one right here, right now. Actual flesh and blood, not just the firing of random neurons along some possibly damaged pathway in his brain.

He shakes his head as he closes his eyes, uncertain of which one he'll see when he opens them again. Honestly unsure of which one he _wants_ to see.

So he fights a war within himself, a struggle between his overpowering _need_ to know and his equally overpowering _fear_ of knowing. It takes a bit of time, but, finally, the need outweighs the fear, so he opens his eyes.

She's still here. Black leather jacket. Blue top. Jeans. Black heeled ankle boots. Hair spilling over her shoulders in soft curls.

Obviously not an invention of his imagination.

He looks closely at her, comparing the woman in front of him to that still vivid mental image, feeling like he's been transported over the intervening years in the blink of an eye.

She looks older, of course. Five or six years, at best guess. But the passing of time has done nothing to diminish her stunningly powerful attractiveness, has, in fact, made her only that much more beautiful.

However, when he looks more carefully, he notices that she's a little thinner than his most recent memory. And there's a kind of tiredness in her eyes he can't ever recall seeing before. Additionally, while he doesn't know exactly why, something in her body language, her expression, gives him the sense that she's hesitant, unsure of herself. A marked contrast to the supremely confident, almost brash woman of that first meeting, and, for that matter, the one he's known as Sarah Walker for the past three years.

It takes a moment for him to recognize it for what it is.

Fear.

It appears that she's just as apprehensive about this meeting as he is. And just as tongue-tied.

It's certainly not the way he'd once thought or, perhaps, more accurately, _hoped_ things to go. Before Beckman had dropped her bombshell, Chuck had visualized the two of them meeting again. How they would rush into each other's arms, both so happy to see each other again. To know that, against the odds, they'd been given another chance to make it work.

Not this awkward, uncomfortable silence, neither seeming to know what to say, how to start.

Unsure of what to do, he gestures to the fountain. "Would you like to sit?"

She seems reluctant, but, after a brief hesitation, walks over, takes a seat a couple of feet from where he places himself. She looks straight ahead, softly wringing her hands in her lap.

Silence.

Desperate, he racks his brain, can't seem to come up with anything, until, almost of their own volition, the words spill out. "I'm so sorry."

She turns to him, appears startled, as if these were the last words she'd expected to hear from him. Seemingly puzzled, she inquires, "For what?"

"Rachel told me how horribly I've treated you for the last month or so. That I basically accused you of being a traitor. That I called you all sorts of horrible names and wouldn't have anything to do with you."

He can see his unwelcome reminders hit home, but she brushes it off. "No need to apologize, Chuck. I know that wasn't the real you. I've put it behind me and so should you."

"But Rachel said you were really hurt."

"Yes, I was. But only until I stopped feeling sorry for myself and began to understand what you were going through."

"Still, I'd feel better if you would accept my apology. Please."

She looks at him for a couple of seconds, her expression difficult to read. "Of course, Chuck."

There's another awkward pause.

"I just recalled the first time we met. That day in my office."

She nods. "Yes. I remember."

Another pause.

Then the dam breaks and he almost babbles. "It's just that I don't know what to call you. Sarah or Samantha? You said to call you Sam, but maybe that was just that one time. Did I call you that? Or did I like Samantha better? I don't know. And Bartowski? I don't understand that."

And before he can put the brake on his tongue, before he stops to think how hurtful the words might be, he blurts out, "I don't know who you really are."

Chuck sees her flinch, almost as if she's been physically attacked, sees the hurt in her eyes that she quickly tries to conceal by shifting her gaze to the paving stones beneath her feet.

A few seconds pass before she quietly replies, "Sometimes I'm not sure either."

It's his turn to be startled. "What do you mean?"

She looks at him again. "Chuck, I've been her for three years. Night and day, rarely stepping out of character, even in private. It became second nature to think like she would. To act the way she would. To speak the way she would. So much so, that after the first year had passed, I caught myself, time and again, believing I _was_ Sarah Walker."

He just stares, dumbfounded. "I didn't realize…"

"I know, Chuck. I know. We, the team, decided, that in would be best to address each other by our assumed names, even when you weren't around. To this day, I often think of them by those names rather than their real ones."

"I didn't know that."

"No way you could." She pauses. "Chuck, I know that you're not the same as you were before all of this, but all of us have changed as well. We've lived and breathed these characters for so long that we'll always carry a part of them with us."

He nods. "Like actors in a long-running TV show."

"A bit, but it runs much deeper than that. It was more like a police officer on a long-term undercover assignment. Living the character pretty much all the time."

"That couldn't be good for you."

"No, all the psych guys told us we needed to take a break from time to time. Even if it was just a few days or a week away. A chance to shed the cover, spend time with family or friends. Or just time to be alone. To reconnect with who we were."

Nodding, he queries, "But it seems that you didn't do that. Am I wrong?"

She shakes her head. "No, Chuck, you're not wrong."

"Why?"

"The truth is, part of it was because I was afraid. Afraid that if I left Sarah behind for any length of time, I wouldn't be able to get back to her again."

Even though he's almost certain he knows where this is heading, Chuck forces himself to ask, "Why not?"

She's quiet for a while, long enough that he thinks she might not answer at all.

When she does, it's in a low voice, while looking down at her feet once again. She pauses. "Sarah was, in some ways, a very damaged woman. Being her was often…difficult. She had so many boundaries, so many walls, ones I had to respect in order to stay in character. There were so many things I wasn't allowed to say or do. Things I desperately _wanted_ to say or do."

Turning to him, she asks, "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He replies, "I think so," but knows that his identity struggles of the last few days have really only given him a small glimmer of what she's gone through.

She looks at him for a few long moments before continuing, "I was afraid that if I went back to Sam's life, even for just a while, I mightn't be able to live within those constraints again. That I would someday simply break down and ruin everything. So I put Sam behind me, did my best to forget the life she had, and concentrate only on who I had to be at that moment."

She's quiet, so quiet that he has to strain a little to hear her next words. "But it was hard, really hard, some days. Pretending day after day, hiding myself, my feelings, inside of her."

He feels the tears forming at the corners of his eyes, tries to blink them away, but fails. It's at this moment that Chuck thinks he fully understands what Casey meant by a special kind of hell. She'd given up everything, her entire life, practically her very being, for him.

And he's absolutely certain she's had to leave love behind as well. Maybe for good.

There's a selfish, ugly part of him which fervently hopes that's true. That she's free now. That there's at least a chance for things to work out between the two of them. Maybe if…

 _Stop! What the hell is wrong with me?_

Inwardly, he cringes at his selfishness, ashamed he let his thoughts wander down that path. After all that she's had to relinquish, she's certainly earned the right to live her own life. Sam's life.

So, in his heart, he knows that in the end, it doesn't matter how much he loves her, doesn't matter that's she's the single most important thing in his life, because he'll do the right thing.

Even if that means letting her go.

Sliding over, he takes her hand. Looking closely at her, he says, very softly, "Sam, I can't thank you enough for all you've done for me. But this whole mess is over now. You're free to go back to being Samantha again, back to her life, the life you deserve."

He pauses, surprises himself a little when he's able to get his next words out without choking. "All I ask is that we can stay friends."

She pulls back a few inches, her eyes searching his face, looking puzzled. "Friends, Chuck? I don't think it would be possible for us to ever go back to being just friends."

His heart sinks, dismayed that even that option seems to be off the table. Maybe her husband is the jealous type, no longer willing to let Chuck into their lives in any shape or form.

"I'm sorry. I'd hoped that, even with the married thing—"

She cuts him off sharply. "Who told you that? I asked them not to say anything to you!"

"Nobody said anything, Sam. I figured it out for myself. And I guess I can understand why your husband might feel uncomfortable about the close ties we…"

Chuck's voice tapers off as he sees her staring at him, eyes wide, her hand over her mouth.

"What?"

"Oh my god! You have no idea, do you?"

He's completely bewildered, has no notion what she's getting at, why she reacted so strongly.

"Idea? Idea of what?"

He watches, perplexed as she mutters, almost to herself, "I thought that since you remembered us meeting, you would've also remembered…"

She shakes her head, and in a much stronger voice, says, "Never mind. Obviously, I was wrong." Somewhat cryptically, she adds, "I guess that's what I get for cutting myself off from the team."

Grasping his hand more firmly, she assures him, "Chuck, you're right about one thing. I _am_ married."

He suddenly feels sick. As much as he'd kept telling himself, over and over, that this was the truth, he knows now that a part of him had always hoped she would laugh in his face, amused that he could be so far off base.

But she doesn't, so all he can say in reply is a weak, "Oh!"

She looks at him with an odd, unreadable expression.

"To you."

He just stares stupidly at her, blinking a few times as he tries to grasp her words, a number of seconds passing before he's able to reply.

"I'm sorry. I don't know if I heard you correctly. You're married?"

"Yes."

"To me?"

"Yes."

"That's not possible."

"Excuse me?"

"I could never forget something like that."

She doesn't reply, just looks at him as if waiting for him to realize what he'd just said.

He hangs his head. "But I did, didn't I?"

"Yes," she answers, her voice flat.

"How long?"

"For almost two years before the incident. Our fifth anniversary would have been next month."

He falls silent, his mind whirling as he desperately tries to fully comprehend the ramifications of this startling revelation. What it means for him. Her. Them.

It explains so many things. The deep, abiding bond he feels with this woman. The almost instantaneous connection he'd felt when she'd made her scripted entrance into the Buy More that day.

It seems that, somehow, his heart had remembered, even when his mind was incapable of doing so.

Then, as it truly sinks in, he feels a sudden upwelling of joy.

 _I'm really married! To this amazing woman!_

With a burgeoning smile on his face, he turns to face her, fully expecting to see _his_ happiness mirrored on _her_ face.

But, instead, he sees a woman clearly on the edge of some sort of emotional breakdown, her face etched with misery, eyes glistening with the threat of tears.

He frantically searches his mind, wondering what he could have done or said or not done or said to bring her to this condition.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

She doesn't respond, seemingly unable to at the moment.

"Is it about the anniversary? Because, if it is, you don't have to worry. I wouldn't expect or ask that we just pretend the last three years didn't happen. I know there's a ton of stuff we'll have to take care of before there's any hope that..."

His voice tapers off, something nagging at the back of his mind.

 _Wait! Our fifth anniversary_ would _have been next month?_

The implications hit him like a punch to the gut.

 _No, please not that._

Choking up, he barely manages to get out the words. "Sam, did we separate before all this happened? Were we planning to get a divorce?"

He sees her flinch, but then she shakes her head. It's a few seconds before she replies, "No, Chuck. We weren't."

He lets out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

 _Thank you._

He waits, hoping for her to elaborate further, but, frustratingly, she doesn't say another word.

Her continued reticence finally irritates him to the point that his words come out sounding much harsher, much whinier than he'd intended.

"So we're married, and yet you didn't come to see me after I woke up? When I needed you most, you weren't there. Why?"

She says nothing.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Look, I'm not so naive as to think that we can make everything better with a kiss and a promise, but if we're going to have any chance to figure this out, I need you here. _Now_. I need you to tell me what's going on with you."

She's so quiet, so still. "I can't."

He's starting to get angry, but does his best to keep his voice even. "You _can't_ tell me what's going on? Or you _won't_?"

She shakes her head. "I can't do it."

Exasperated, he snaps at her. "You can't do what? Talk to me? Make any effort to sort this out?"

Abruptly, she's angry, almost shouts at him, "No, I can't lose you again! Each time, it's damn near killed me! Are you happy now, Chuck? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

And then, as suddenly as it came, her anger dissipates. She turns away, her head down, chokingly murmurs, "I can't. I just can't do it again."

Her impassioned outburst stuns him into inactivity. Desperately trying to wrap his head around what this means, he just sits there, idiotically, staring at her, hearing her sobs, but doing nothing. But, finally, after what seems like a very long moment, his compassion triumphs over his confusion.

He slides over to her, puts his arm around her shoulders and draws her to him. She's stiff, unyielding for a second to two, but then nestles her head into his shoulder, still crying, her hands in her lap, making no attempt to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks. Fishing around in his jacket pocket, he manages to come up with a couple of tissues, which he then hands to her. She takes them and, after dabbing her eyes, blows her nose noisily.

He gives her a couple of minutes to gather her composure, then quietly says, "Sam, I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot. There's just so much I don't know. So I keep putting my foot in it, making these erroneous, baseless assumptions about you and the others, about my life. Can you forgive me for pushing you?"

She doesn't look his way, but, after a few seconds, she nods.

"Thank you."

He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I need your help. I know the basics, but it's clear that I have to find a way to really understand who you and I were before this mess got dumped on us. And I especially need to know what you've had to deal with these past few years. It's pretty obvious that I'm lousy at guessing," from the side, he notices that this elicits a brief, wan smile from her, "so I need you to tell me. Please."

She turns her head, looks up at him then, her expression hesitant.

He implores, "Please, Sam. I know you've been hurt, in ways that I can't yet truly comprehend. But I promise that I'll do everything in my power to understand."

He stops for a moment to muster his courage. "And, if in the end, you tell me you can't be with me, I promise that I'll let you go. I won't try to hold you to some agreement we made when we were different people in a different time."

Sam looks at him, her eyes searching his face. "You'd do that?"

He nods. "Yes, Sam, I would. But I"m not gonna lie to you. I want to be with you more than anything else in this world.

"But that will only work if that's what you want too. I'm only asking you to give us a chance to find our way through all of this. Please."

She doesn't reply for what seems like a very long time, but just when he begins to despair of her answer, she nods and says, "I'll try, Chuck."

He makes no effort to mask his relief. "Thank you, Sam. That's all I ask."

Sliding over a foot or two, she turns to face him, dabs at her eyes again.

She sniffles. "Where would you like me to start?"

He thinks for a moment. "How about around the time we first met? Tell me who you were. What you were doing."

She nods, pondering for a few moments. "Alright. For a couple of weeks, I'd been hearing rumors about some new wunderkind over at the NSA, working on some hush-hush project. I was curious, so I asked around a bit. Didn't find out much, other than a couple of agents who'd run into Charles Carmichael telling me that he was kind of a nerd, awkward, especially around women."

He blushes a bit. "Yeah, that's the picture Rachel painted as well."

Surprisingly, Sam grins, just a little, at his discomfort before she continues, "It didn't surprise me that Graham then assigned me to be your CIA liaison. I'm sure he was just as curious about what was going on as I was."

"Wait. Wouldn't it have seemed a little odd to assign a full-time field agent to something like this? Surely Beckman would have been suspicious."

Her surprise is clear. "Chuck, I wasn't a field agent. I was just an analyst, tied to a desk."

"How come? Had you been injured or something? Alex told me that was the reason _he'd_ been assigned."

"No, I hadn't been injured." She pauses. "I'd never _been_ a field agent."

"What?! I don't understand."

Her head is held high as she replies, "Chuck, I didn't qualify because I categorically refused to take my Red Test."

"Red test?"

"Sorry, I guess that never came up while we were in Burbank. Chuck, a Red Test is when a trainee, in order to become a field agent, is ordered to kill someone picked out by her or his superior. Supposedly, the target is a corrupt agent, but we're not always told the details. In the end, it's really a test of blind obedience, whether you will do as you're ordered, regardless of whether you feel it's right or wrong."

He's horrified. "And that's what they demanded of you? Damnit, Sam how could they ask anyone to do something so brutal, so callous?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "That's just the way it was. We were never told about it during our training. They just sprang it on us right before we thought we were about to graduate. There was a huge amount pressure put upon us to obey. In my case, from Graham himself."

Shaking his head, he replies, "And yet you refused him."

"Yes. I looked him straight in the face and flat out told him it was an archaic rite of passage that was barbaric, cruel and unnecessary."

Picturing the confrontation in his mind, he's can only imagine the depth of courage it had taken for her to stand up to that intimidating authority figure.

"I can't imagine he took that particularly well."

"No, he didn't.

"He must have been furious."

"Yes, he was." She pauses for a moment. "Chuck, I need to make it clear that, up to a point, my history and the one you created for Sarah were basically the same. Like Sarah, my family split up early. My father was a con man and I worked with him until he was arrested just after I turned seventeen. Like Sarah, Graham recruited me into the CIA, groomed me to be his 'blunt instrument', as one of your Bond movies put it. But the difference was that, unlike Sarah, I had someone in my life, a mentor, if you will, who was older and wiser in the ways of the world I was being pushed into. A man who helped me to see Graham for what he really was."

"He sounds like a good man. I'd really like to meet him someday."

"You already have, Chuck."

He's confused. "Who? When?"

"I'll give you a hint. He's a weapons specialist who works for the NSA."

He's baffled for a moment, but then the light comes on. "Casey—I mean, Alex?!"

"Yes. He was my heavy weapons and sniper instructor, on loan from the NSA."

Chuck shakes his head in wonder. "I'm surprised that Graham would even let someone outside the CIA work with you."

She shrugs one shoulder. "Graham wanted me to be the best, and there is no one better than Alex at what he does. But Graham made a mistake. He misjudged the Major, thought he was an old school killing machine, a burnout. The perfect example for me to emulate. He didn't realize that bringing him in was what eventually led to the undoing of his plans for me. It didn't take long for Alex to see what Graham was trying to turn me into. His own personal executioner, to be used in whatever way the director saw fit, with ethics and legality tossed aside in his pursuit of power."

"What did Alex do?"

"He painted a picture of what my life would be like if I blindly followed Graham's lead. Of the kind of person I'd almost certainly wind up becoming. Solitary. Friendless. Never making a real connection with anyone. Nothing to look forward to except dying alone in some hospital like this one. That is, if I wasn't killed in some godforsaken place first."

She grimaces at the memory. "I didn't like what I was hearing."

"I expect not."

"I asked him how he could be so sure that would happen to me. He just said to trust him on that. It was only later that I realized that he was, to a great extent, speaking from personal experience."

"Did I know about this?"

"Yes, but we kept it very quiet, afraid that, if Graham found out, he would find some way to take it out on the Major."

A thought occurs to him. "Sam, last night Alex visited me and we talked for a while. Even though he didn't come out and say so, it seemed to me that, after he joined the team, he'd found something he'd been missing. Was I right?"

"Yes Chuck, you were right. When he decided to stay on after his wound had healed, I kidded him a bit about it, in private of course. He admitted he liked the camaraderie of the team."

"He wouldn't say friendship?"

"No, camaraderie was the most I could get out of him."

"Still, that's a step."

She nods. "Even after I was finished with his training, we secretly kept in touch. I would tell him what Graham was doing and Alex would warn me of the pitfalls. Give me advice on how I could extricate myself from Graham's schemes without making him an enemy. But when it finally came to the Red Test, I had no choice but to defy him. He punished me by assigning me to a desk. I think he would've dismissed me, but I believe that, right down to the end, he still had hopes I would eventually come around to his way of thinking."

"So Graham _is_ gone then?"

She's surprised. "You don't remember that he died when Fulcrum booby-trapped the Cipher?"

"No, Sam, I _do_ remember that. It's just that I found out that some of my memories from the years in Burbank are false ones. For instance, did you ever save me from asphyxiating in a vacuum chamber?"

Sounding puzzled, she replies, "No, nothing like that ever happened."

"Well, at one time, I thought it did. As far as Rachel can figure, at least some of what I believed to have happened to me, are actually false memories generated by case histories in the Intersect. That's why I asked you."

She looks at him for a few seconds before quietly saying, "I can't imagine how confusing that must be."

He shrugs. "Better than some of the alternatives."

He doesn't elaborate, and after a few seconds, Sam goes on with her story. "So, Graham assigned me to your project, partially because he was curious but also as a way of punishing me."

"Punishment?"

"Well, while there were no details, word on the street was that your project was pretty far out there, most likely a serious dead end. So anyone associated with it would carry some of the stigma when it crashed and burned. It was Graham's way of putting me in my place, reminding me of the ways he could control my career."

"Wow. I would've never thought of that."

"You wouldn't, Chuck, because you're not a devious, slimy bastard."

It's a bit of a backhanded compliment, but one that, nonetheless, warms him a bit.

"There was likely another reason why he sent me. Another way he thought he could punish me," she says this a little reluctantly, almost as if she's embarrassed to bring it up.

"Which was?"

"Graham knew the type of men I'd dated, apparently thought that having to spend a lot of time with a nerd like Charles Carmichael would annoy the hell out of me."

He's just about to ask what type that was when she quickly adds, "Chuck, Bryce Larkin and I had been dating for a couple of weeks prior to the time I was assigned to the Project."

"The same Bryce Larkin who—"

"Yes." She growls, "The same Bryce who almost killed you that night."

"Oh. I see. Was I aware that you two were an item?"

"Not right away, but one day you stumbled upon us kissing in one of the stairways."

He flushes, embarrassed. "What did I do?"

"Just what you did right now. Then you apologized profusely and immediately took off. I could tell you were hurt."

"How?"

"Chuck, you weren't then, and aren't now, the kind of person who's good at hiding their emotions. It was pretty clear how you felt."

His blush deepens. "What happened after that?"

"Our friendship was strained for quite some time, but then, after one team briefing, you took me aside and eventually made a confession. And things got better."

"A confession? What kind…"

Then the memory hits him.

…

" _Thank you, Agent Bartowski, Major Casey, for your reports on the progress of the downloadable abilities module. That'll be all for today."_

 _Chuck tries, but can't keep his eyes off Sam as she gracefully rises from her chair. Heart beating wildly, he tries to keep his request casual, but instead, it comes out sounding very formal._

" _Agent Bartowski, would you please stay behind for a minute or two?"_

 _She nods, replies with equal formality, "Certainly, Agent Carmichael."_

 _As the others file out of the conference room, Chuck does his best to ignore the sidelong glances he gets from Rachel and James. After the door closes behind them, he turns to Sam, opens his mouth to speak, but, before he has the chance, she jumps in._

" _Chuck, I know you're upset with me, but, if I'm going to stay on the team, this…this coldness, this stiffness has to stop. I thought we were friends."_

" _Yes, we are, and I hope we can still continue to be." He takes a deep breath. "Sam, I've been acting like a jerk and I'm very, very sorry. I have no right to judge anything about your personal life."_

" _No, you don't."_

" _Can you forgive me?"_

 _She smiles gently. "Of course, Chuck."_

" _Thank you." He knows he should leave it at that, but, before he's able to stop himself, the words tumble out. "Sam, it's just that I don't think he's good enough for you."_

 _She regards him with a tolerant expression. "Why is that?"_

" _It's just that you're this amazing, kind, patient and beautiful person. You'd have to be to put up with me." He pauses. "And Bryce comes across as an arrogant, smug bastard. And, before you say anything, I formed that opinion before I met you, so this isn't jealousy talking."_

 _She raises a dubious eyebrow. "You're sure of that?"_

 _He blushes. "I just don't like him. You could do a lot better than Bryce."_

 _Nodding, she says, "You're right, Chuck."_

 _Startled, he stammers, "I'm…I'm right? About what?"_

" _All of it. Bryce Larkin is an arrogant, smug bastard. I dumped him weeks ago."_

 _He shakes his head. "I had no idea."_

" _That's because you haven't really spoken with me since that day you saw me with Bryce."_

 _She looks him straight in the face. "Chuck, if we're going to try and have a relationship, you'll have to promise that you'll communicate with me and not clam up because something is bothering you."_

 _He stares at her. "What did you just say?"_

" _You heard me, Chuck. You told me, correctly, that I could do a lot better than Bryce. That's you. You're the 'a lot better.'"_

 _He's incredulous. "You want to go out with me?"_

" _Yes. I would have waited for you to ask, but I kinda wanted it to happen before we were old and grey." She grins at him._

 _He shakes his head, still wondering, despite her assurances, if he could have possibly heard her correctly._

 _Suddenly feeling a little lightheaded, he says, "I think I need to sit down." He starts lowering himself, but stops when she exclaims, "Chuck! The chair!"_

 _He looks behind him, realizes that he would've missed the chair by at least a foot and fallen flat on his ass._

" _Oh!" He blushes as he straightens up, only to see Sam, her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to hold in her laughter._

 _He grins, ruefully. "You sure you still want to go out with someone who could do something like that?"_

 _Apparently not trusting herself to speak, she just nods, a dazzling smile on her lips._

 _He grins back. "Sam, I've liked, really liked you from the first moment I saw you, but I never thought I'd have any sort of chance with you."_

" _That's because you think too little of yourself, Chuck. You're a kind, patient, funny, good man. It would be foolish of me to not at least give this a try."_

 _He just stands there, stunned, as she walks over and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek._

" _Now, I'm going to go home and get ready. You can pick me up at seven, OK?"_

 _He nods, still feeling overwhelmed, but in a fantastic this-is-one-of-the-best-days-of-his-life kinda way._

 _She looks over her shoulder as she reaches the door. "Oh, and by the way. I'm not a fancy-dress, haute cuisine kind of girl. I lean more to the jeans and cheeseburger type. You good with that?"_

 _He finally manages to find his voice, nods. "Absolutely. You alright with Mexican? There's a place in Georgetown I've been meaning to try. James gave it his five-star rating. Well, actually four and a half, but I rounded up."_

 _Sounding very serious, she asks, "You're sure you wanna trust the little man's recommendation for our first date?"_

 _He opens his mouth to protest, but before he has a chance, she chuckles, then says, "Sounds perfect. See you at seven."_

 _And with that, she's out the door, leaving him standing there with the world's biggest smile plastered all over his face._

…

He shakes off the recollection, sees Sam looking at him expectantly.

"Did you just remember something again? It almost looked like you flashed."

"Yeah, it is a bit like a flash. I recalled my confession. The first time I told you that I liked you."

She smiles, just a little bit. "Yes, I remember."

He gives her a wry grin. "So, _you_ asked _me_ out?"

"Well, we weren't getting any younger, so, yeah, I did. Problem?"

"No, no, not at all. Just not the way I would've visualized it."

"That's because Charles Carmichael makes Chuck Bartowski seem like a pretty bold guy in comparison."

"I was _that_ shy?"

"Yep."

He shakes his head. "It's a wonder you got to like me at all."

"To be fair, it did take me a while. At first, I had trouble figuring you out. You were so nervous around me. But then, when I noticed how you interacted just fine with the rest of the team, even Rachel, I began to understand that your skittishness was because of how you felt about me."

"Yeah, I can see me doing that. Men like myself do have the tendency to be inhibited around women like yourself."

She dryly replies. "I've noticed."

He nods. "If I had to guess, I was probably OK with Rachel because I could see she and Eric liked each other, therefore she was off the market. Not having to worry about even the potential of a relationship makes things a lot more comfortable."

"I figured as much. I could see that they cared for each other too, although it took a long time before they did anything about it."

"Rachel and Eric told me how they managed the whole wedding, all the while in their roles as Ellie and Devon."

"Yes. It was a good time."

"Sam, they also told me that I hosted an engagement party for them before it all happened. That I have a house where we held the affair."

"Yes."

Softly, he asks, "Sam, it's our house, isn't it?"

"Yes, Chuck. It is. But I'm not quite ready to talk about it yet. OK?"

"Sorry."

"It's alright."

After a few seconds of silence, he asks, "What happened after that?"

Giving herself a shake, she replies, "It didn't take us as long as Rachel and Eric. After you got past the whole nervous thing and started to relax around me, things progressed fairly quickly. Well, as quickly as someone who was as shy as you could manage."

She muses for a few seconds and, with just the barest hint of a smile on her lips, adds, "I remember this one time, early on, when you were dropping me off after we'd gone to see a movie. You'd been holding my hand pretty much that whole evening, which was a pretty bold move for you. But we'd never really kissed before, so I decided it was time to break the ice. When you walked me to my door, I reached up, brought your head down and gave you a gentle little kiss on the lips. I could tell you were surprised, for you just stood there. After a few seconds, I went inside, leaving you rooted to the spot, ten shades of red with a stunned expression on your face. You were quite cute."

He closes his eyes, fervently hoping he'll recall the moment, but is let down when nothing happens. No flash of memory. Nothing.

Disappointedly, he says, "Sam, I wish I could remember that. I'm sure that being kissed by you was one of the highlights of my life up until then."

She flushes a bit. "Maybe with time, stuff like that'll come back."

"Man, I hope so. I really hope so."

"In any case, that seemed to do the trick. Although you were never much for PDA, the rest of the team could soon tell we liked each other. Rachel said she'd first cottoned on when she'd watched us going over a file together. She'd noticed me putting my hand on your shoulder, leaning in close. She told me later that this was the moment when she'd known we cared for each other. She squealed when I confirmed it."

"So that's not just an Ellie thing."

She shakes her head. "She got me thinking about how I felt about you. Was it more than just liking you? I wasn't sure. But then one day, after we'd been dating for a few months, I had an epiphany. That morning, as I was brushing my teeth, it suddenly came to me that I wanted you standing there beside me with that goofy grin and your hair making all those funny animal shapes. And not just for a morning here and there, but every day. I knew then that I loved Charles Carmichael. And I knew what I had to do about it."

Even while cursing inwardly at the gaps in his memory, he finds himself drawn into her story, so badly wanting to know what came next.

"What did you do, Sam?"

"I took you aside at work, into the supply closet, actually, and told you how I felt. I was a little nervous because you didn't say anything for a few seconds, just looked at me. But then you smiled, took me in your arms and kissed me. You murmured in my ear that you loved me too, had done so for a very long time, but hadn't said anything because you weren't sure how I felt and didn't want me to feel pressured."

She smiles. "Needless to say, we were in there for a few minutes longer than we would've been if we'd just been looking for supplies. A month later, we were engaged."

He groans. "Sam, please tell me that I handled that part on my own. I would hate to think I left _everything_ up to you."

A little smile tugs a the corners of her mouth. "No, you did fine. There was a tech company up in New York that you wanted to investigate. They produced some sort of software package that you felt could be instrumental to the Project. So we hopped an early ride on a government shuttle jet that made regular runs up there."

"I assume I brought you along as security."

"Of course. Too much of a risk to let you wander about on your own. Didn't fool anyone on the team, though. Anyway, you took care of the business part quickly, so we had the rest of the day to walk around Central Park. It was a beautiful spring day. You took me to the Boathouse for lunch. And later in the afternoon—"

"We went to Bethesda Terrace."

"You remember?"

"Just the name, somehow. No, wait…"

…

 _Stop freaking out. Just stop._

 _His slightly sweaty hand clutching the ring box in his pocket, Chuck tries very hard to listen to the admonishing voice in his head, but every time he so much as glances at Sam walking beside him, hand in hand, his composure goes up in a puff of smoke._

 _Before he can catch himself, he finds himself foolishly wishing that she wasn't so damned attractive. Virtually every guy who's walked past them has given her the eye, some blatantly, others more circumspectly. Immediately followed by the looks they'd sent his way, surely wondering why she was with a guy like him. Their puzzlement had eroded his confidence to the point that he wondered if he should put off asking her until another day._

 _She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "You OK, Chuck?"_

 _He turns his head to face her, sees the concern in her eyes._

 _Swallowing hard, he replies, "Yeah, Sam. I'm fine."_

" _You sure? You've been awfully quiet the last few minutes."_

" _Sorry. Just stuck inside my head. I'll be fine."_

 _She nods, says, "OK," sounding a little dubious._

 _After a few more seconds of silence, he takes a breath and says, "Sam, there is something._

" _What is it, Chuck?"_

" _Does it bother you that all these guys have been staring at you the whole day?"_

 _She looks around, seems shocked. "They have?"_

 _He's surprised. "You didn't notice?"_

 _Chuckling, she says, "Of course I noticed, Chuck. I wouldn't be much of an agent if I didn't keep track of what was going on around us. It's just something that I learned to tune out some time ago, not too long after the CIA did their makeover on me."_

" _Oh, I see."_

 _She looks more closely at him. "Does it bother you?"_

" _No, no. You're certainly stare-worthy, as I can personally testify." He pauses. "It's just that…"_

 _She stops walking, turns to face him. Looking up into his face, she gently asks, "What is it, Chuck?"_

 _He looks into her eyes for a bit before answering, "I just get the distinct impression that most of them think you could do a lot better than me."_

 _She looks at him thoughtfully for a few moments. "I expect you're right. A lot of them probably do think that."_

 _He finds himself suddenly let down, having thought she might commiserate with his insecurities. He averts his eyes, trying to hide his disappointment. But then feels her cool, soft hand on his cheek._

" _Chuck, please look at me."_

 _Reluctantly, he turns his head, brings his eyes to her stunning blue ones, feels once again that now familiar hiccup in his heart._

" _Chuck, what they think is completely irrelevant. In the end, the only thing that truly matters is what I think, isn't it?"_

 _He nods. "Yeah, I guess you're right."_

 _She smiles, looking up into his face. "Good. Because, you see, sweetie, I know, right here," taking his hand, she holds it gently against her heart, "that I could never, ever do better than you. I've known that for quite some time now. I've never given you any reason to doubt that, have I?"_

 _Feeling like a tremendous weight has been lifted from his shoulders, he quietly replies, "No, Sam. You never have. I'm sorry for being so stupid."_

" _That's OK, Chuck. Don't sweat it." She takes a couple of steps back, grinning cheekily. "After all," she does a little spin, her simple, yet stunningly beautiful yellow sundress swirling around her knees, "you have to admit that I'm pretty hot stuff. It's only to be expected that mere mortals, such as yourself, would, from time to time, feel inadequate in my presence."_

 _He laughs, marveling, once again, at her ability to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time._

 _He steps in closer, takes her in his arms, looks down into her eyes and smiles. "I'm overawed by your humility."_

 _She looks up at him, bats her eyes. "Thank you, kind sir. I've always felt that it's one of my foremost qualities."_

 _He laughs again._

 _Doubts banished, voices stilled, Chuck knows he was supremely foolish to ever let the actions of other, almost certainly envious men, undermine his faith in her devotion to him._

 _Seeing the large fountain behind them, he gently takes her hand and leads her toward it. They sit, and he turns to her._

" _Sam, there's something very important I need to tell you."_

S _uddenly looking very serious, she asks, her voice a little tremulous, "What…what is it, Chuck?"_

" _Ever since that first day in my office, I've known that I've wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. But I never really believed that someone as incredible as you could fall for someone like me. So I tried to push it out of my mind, tried to be content with just being able to work alongside you. But it didn't work. My heart literally ached when I had to say goodbye at the end of each day." He pauses._

 _Eyes glistening, her hand over her mouth, she nods for him to go on._

 _Taking a deep breath, he continues, "I hate that good-bye even more now, because now I know you love me. Sam, I want to be there with you, each and every morning to kiss you awake, and each and every night to kiss you goodnight."_

 _He slides off his seat, pivots to face her and places one knee on the ground. He feels a little embarrassed, doing this with so many people around them, but pushes through it._

 _Pulling the box from his pocket, he opens it. "Sam, will you marry me?"_

 _Her wondrous expression is something he's sure he'll never forget. She sits there, silent for a moment or two, her eyes wide. With a tear tracking down each cheek, she nods, softly replies, stumbling over her words a bit, "Ye—yes, Chuck, I will."_

 _His heart pounding, he only distantly hears the applause and cheers of the people nearby as he takes her hand and slips on the ring. It fits perfectly. He's once again glad that he'd enlisted Rachel's assistance in this and the many other areas about women where he'd been rather clueless. The doctor had been like the big sister he'd never had._

 _Smiling, she leans forward and takes his head in her hands, tenderly kisses him._

 _Their foreheads touching, he softly says, "I love you, Samantha Lisa Bartowski."_

" _And I, you, Charles Carmichael."_

…

Excited, he blurts out, "Sam! I remember that yellow sundress. You reassuring me. My proposal. The expression on your face that I knew I'd never…"

It's easy to see to see the hurt in her eyes as he once again dredges up what must be bittersweet memories for her.

"But I did forget. Again. I'm so sorry, Sam." He hangs his head.

"Chuck, you don't have to keep apologizing. It is what it is."

With a faraway look on her face, she goes on with the story. "We decided on a small wedding. Rachel and Carina stood up for me. Eric and Alex, after he gave me away, stood up for you. James, who'd gotten his ordination from some online church, something to do with Star Wars, if I remember correctly, officiated. Only a few guests."

"So Carina knew you before."

"Yes, we'd met while I was involved in the planning for a joint CIA slash DEA overseas operation. We just clicked, somehow. Later, it made things easier when she joined us on some of our missions."

"Good. I'm relieved."

"About what?"

"I'd thought that maybe I'd just imagined her."

Dryly, Sam replies, "Chuck, I don't think even you could make up someone like Carina."

He nods, "Yeah, you're definitely right about that."

For a moment, he thinks about asking where they honeymooned, but knows right away that it would be much too painful to hear about it second hand. But even as he pushes _that_ thought from his mind, another takes its place. He suddenly realizes that he's been assuming something all along that may, in fact, not be true at all.

"Sam, we _were_ happy, weren't we?" he asks tentatively, unsure if he's ready to hear the truth.

She looks into his eyes for a few seconds before answering, a sad smile on her lips, "Yes, Chuck we were. So much so, that one day Alex told me he was thinking of taking a Dramamine each morning before work, just to keep away the nausea he felt at seeing us, as he put it, 'constantly expressing our lady feelings at the drop of a hat.'"

He starts to chuckle, but cuts it off quickly when she doesn't join in, instead, appears to be on the verge of sudden tears.

And right then, seemingly out of nowhere, it hits him like the proverbial ton of bricks.

The house.

"We bought that big house because we'd planned to start a family, didn't we, Sam?"

She nods, tears welling up. "Yes, Chuck. We'd talked about it for some time. When it appeared the project was about to deliver on its promise, we'd decided to go ahead and buy the place."

She pauses for a very long moment. "We were just about to start trying when everything started to fall apart. Instead of performing as it should have, the Intersect wrecked the minds of our volunteers and your guilt overwhelmed you. And then, of course, we were betrayed from within.

"And just like that, the life we'd built together, the one I'd finally come to understand that I deserved, simply vanished.

"Because, Charles Carmichael, the love of my life, was gone. And in his place was this stranger, this man who looked exactly like him, but who knew nothing about me, not even my name."

He can tell she's doing her very best to keep her voice even, her expression neutral, but the anguish in her eyes gives her away. He desperately tries to find words of comfort, but chokes, knowing that, in the end, they would be fundamentally useless. So he just sits there, his heart aching for her.

She looks off into space once more, her voice quiet. "That day in the Buy More was the first time I saw you after we'd put everything in place. Even though Rachel and Eric had tried to warn me, had told me, over and over, that you wouldn't remember me, I'd prayed that they were mistaken, that, somehow, seeing me again would bring it all back to you." She stops for a moment, takes a choking breath. "But as I approached the Nerd Herd counter, there was nothing. No sign that you had any idea who I was. I almost broke, right then and there. I'm not sure how, but I managed to get through that first meeting according to plan."

He tries to imagine how he would've felt if the situation had been reversed. Is sure it would've crushed him, seeing the blankness, the utter lack of recognition in the eyes of the person that he loved more than life itself. He's sure he would've never fully recovered, even if he had a found a way to somehow move on with his life.

But in her case, it would've been far worse, for she hadn't been granted that option. No way to put some distance between herself and the situation, because she had to stay right there by his side and stick it out, month after month, year after year.

Her words are quiet, ineffably sad. "It just about killed me, Chuck. Standing there, smiling and flirting while my heart was breaking. Pretending we were total strangers when we'd been intimate more times than I could count."

She closes her eyes, swipes at them, before going on,"That night I talked to Rachel, told her I didn't think I'd be able to carry on. I asked, almost begged her, to see if there was any way to take me out of the picture. While she'd sympathized with my plight, she'd reminded me how critically important the role of Sarah Walker was in the narrative you'd laid out. Without her, Chuck Bartowski wouldn't survive his life as the Intersect. One way or another, physically, emotionally or mentally, he simply wouldn't make it."

She opens her eyes, looks straight into his. "That night, I thought about her words as I reviewed the parts of the story that touched on Sarah. Eventually, it came to me why Charles had subconsciously given her such a pivotal part in this whole scheme. It wasn't just for Chuck's protection, although that was a big part of it. It was also to keep me near, to try and keep that singular, almost miraculous connection we'd had from fading completely away. To keep alive the hope that, someday, there would be a future for us. And with that in mind, it also became clear why you chose Bartowski as Chuck's last name."

"Of course! Why didn't I think of that?"

She nods before going on, "That night I understood that I had the responsibility to keep that hope alive, for Chuck Bartowski had no awareness of what was at stake here. How could you? You didn't have any idea of what we'd had or what I'd meant to you."

Quietly, he corrects her. "Sam, that's not entirely true."

"In what way, Chuck? I certainly never saw anything that would've indicated otherwise."

"The first time I saw you, I felt something, an instantaneous bond, something at the time that I put down to the love at first sight thing. Or maybe the undeniable physical attraction I felt. But when you told me that we're married, I finally understood it for what it really was. That there was some part of me, deep down, that almost instinctively knew you."

She nods, thoughtfully, gives him a little smile. "It's nice to know that there was more to it than just the physical thing. It's just too bad we couldn't have figured that out back then. It would've made things easier." She shrugs. "Whatever the case, I realized that, if you were to be kept safe and functioning, the primary onus rested on me. I knew I couldn't walk away and just hope things would work out without my active participation. So I pushed aside my personal feelings, my doubts, and vowed that I would stay by your side until the situation was resolved."

Chuck had witnessed this woman's strength, both physical and mental, more times than he could count. And had been awed by it each and every time. But never as awed as he is at this moment, gaping at her, wondering how such a slender frame can contain so much steel.

"How, Sam? How could you just turn off your emotions like that?"

"Chuck, I didn't turn them off so much as bury them. I told you earlier that I feared stepping out of her character. But I didn't tell you why, aside from the necessity, I immersed myself in her to begin with. The Sarah Walker you created had never experienced any real happiness in her life. Had never truly loved or been loved. So, if I could convince myself that this was now my life, I might just be able to keep my despair at bay.

"After all, why would I mourn the loss of something I'd never had in the first place?"

He shakes his head. "Sam, it just seems that, in so many ways, Sarah Walker is such a radical departure from who you really are. I'm not sure why I would've made her that way. Why wasn't she closer to your actual personality, more like the others were? Or did I miss something?"

"No, you're right. It's something that we, the team and I, discussed and I've thought about quite often."

"What specifically?"

"While Sarah was an accomplished assassin, manipulated into that course by Graham, before Burbank, I'd never had the occasion to fire a weapon in anger."

"Never?" He can't hold in his surprise at this unexpected revelation.

"No, never."

"But you obviously knew how to take care of things on our missions and when you were protecting me."

"Chuck, I didn't say I didn't know _how_ , it's just that I never did." She stops for a second, and then adds, her voice flat, expressionless, "Until it was necessary."

He looks into her eyes for a few seconds. "How bad was it?"

She averts his gaze, looking off into the distance. A few seconds later, she softly replies, "Awful. Taking a life, even when there's no option, is nothing like it's so often portrayed in the movies or on TV." She pauses. "There are consequences. There's an…innocence that you give up. You're never quite the same again."

Then, in a stronger voice she adds, "But in the end, I couldn't let good people, people I love, get hurt if I could do something to prevent it."

His heart aching for her once again, he quietly says, "Thank you," but then grimaces as he realizes how hopelessly inadequate those words actually are.

She doesn't appear to notice his reaction, simply nods, still staring at something invisible behind him. "I've often thought that her past was your way of trying to prepare me for what would inevitably come along with this assignment. That I could, perhaps, think of myself more as Sarah, not Sam, when the need arose. Like a sort of buffer."

"Did it help?" he asks softly.

She shrugs. "A little. However, in the end, I realized that I'm responsible for my own actions."

He has no idea what to say to that, so, this time, wisely keeps his mouth shut.

After a few moments of silence, Sam turns to him. "Chuck, there's something I haven't told you. Sarah and I weren't quite as dissimilar as you might think. Aside from the family background thing, there was at least one other aspect of our lives that was pretty much the same."

"What was that, Sam?"

"Until I met you…I mean Charles, I'd never really known what love was."

"What?! I find it hard to believe that someone as incredible as you has never experienced love. There must of have been plenty of guys who fell for you."

"Possibly. Maybe even Bryce, in his own way, thought he loved me. But that's not what I meant. I meant that _I'd_ never really understood what it meant to _be_ in love, until Charles came into my life. I'd thought I had been a couple of times, but I was wrong. So wrong."

"Oh!" he replies, feeling disconcerted at her admission, suddenly envious of…himself? It's all so confusing.

It seems she senses his discomfort, for she quickly adds, her voice reassuring, "Chuck, I didn't tell you that to make you feel uncomfortable. What I'm trying to do is help you understand why I acted the way I did when this began. Why I was so standoffish. OK?"

"Alright, Sam. I'm listening."

"When I accepted my role of protecting you, I also took on the obligation of safeguarding the...I guess you might call it the legacy of the love Charles and I had. Like I said, I couldn't just let it fade away as if it had never existed. That's why I kept pushing you away. Telling you that the rules forbade any sort of real relationship between an agent and an asset."

"I'm not sure I understand how the two connect."

"Chuck, think of it this way. If I'd given in to the attraction I felt toward you—"

He jumps in. "You were attracted to me?"

"Of course I was. Even if we ignore the obvious reasons, you're a kind, gentle, funny, honest and caring man. What's not to like?"

He blushes.

"Like I was saying, if I'd given in, just imagine how I would have felt if, the next day, or the next month, or the next year, Charles Carmichael came back. How could I, in good conscience not tell the man I'd loved that I'd played around on him?"

He splutters, "But, but...Sam, we're the same person!"

"No, not really, Chuck. I mean…you are, but at the same time, you aren't. I had to keep reminding myself of that over and over because, as time went on, I had more and more difficulty differentiating between the two."

He shakes his head, trying to wrap his mind around what she's saying. "Let me see if I've got this straight. If you'd given in, you would've felt like you were cheating _on_ me _with_ me?"

Now _she_ appears to be bewildered. "No, I mean yes. Maybe." She shakes her head. "I'm confused."

"Join the club."

She lets out a short, humorless laugh.

"Sam, I'm really trying to understand how you felt, and I think I'm beginning to get there. But there's something about this that doesn't ring true. It seemed to me that, as time went along, you stopped pushing me away. Am I right?"

She squirms in her seat for a moment, the replies, "Yes, Chuck you are."

"There's especially one time that I remember. A morning in Barstow, at a motel. Did that actually happen?"

She blushes. "Yes. It did."

"We came very close that morning, didn't we?"

"Yes."

"What changed? Why did let you things get that far?"

"Chuck, the op went on far longer than any of our experts had thought possible. All of them had figured that it would collapse under its own weight long before it did. Or that your mental state simply wouldn't be able to handle the pressure.

"But they were wrong. So for three years, I found myself in close proximity to a man who looked exactly like my husband and acted like him as well. _For three freaking years, Chuck."_

"What are you trying to say, Sam? That Barstow was simply because you were looking for some sort of physical release?" He hears the anger and hurt in his voice, sees her flinch at his words.

"No, Chuck." She hesitates. "Well, to be honest, that was a part of it, but only a small part."

"If it wasn't that, then what was it, Sam?"

"Chuck, can't you see?"

Frustrated, he snaps at her, "Obviously, I can't, so why don't you just go ahead and tell me?"

Angrily, she snaps right back, "I'd fallen in love with Chuck Bartowski. And I had no idea what to do about it. Can't you understand how difficult that was for me?"

His anger evaporates as he stares, mouth agape. "You fell in love with me?"

She takes a few deep breaths, before answering much more calmly. "Chuck, I know it sounds like I'm splitting hairs here, but, in the strictest sense, the answer is no. I fell in love with _Chuck Bartowski,_ not you."

"But that's who I…Oh, I think I see what you mean. It's so damned confusing."

"I know, Chuck. It was, and is, for me as well. I'd tried, so, so hard to fight it. I kept telling myself that it was wrong, that I'd be disloyal to Charles if I gave in. But, as time went on, knowing how likely it was that I would never see him again, I started to think of myself more like I was a widow. Wondered, maybe, if my time to grieve was over."

She hangs her head. "Chuck, I was tired, so tired of leading that half-life, being that made up person, unable to express my love for the man next to me because of the barriers I'd imposed on myself."

"How long, Sam? How long have you known?"

Her voice is quiet, her body language betraying her embarrassment. "About a year and a half."

"A year and a half! For god's sake, Sam, why didn't you tell me? We wasted so much time!"

Blinking back tears, she haltingly replies, "I…I tried to, Chuck. So many times. But each time I got close, I'd think about Charles, the responsibility I'd taken on and then I'd choke up. When telling you didn't work, I thought I would show you how I felt, but every time we were almost there, something or someone would always stop us."

He ruefully agrees. "I remember."

"When that had gone for a while, I began to think that maybe we weren't supposed to happen at all. That I was being sent some sort of message to back off."

"Sam, do you believe in—"

"—that kind of stuff? No, not really. So, finally, I realized that enough was enough. I was determined that I was going to tell you."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because, Chuck, that's pretty much the time everything went to hell. Again. Your mind abruptly deteriorated, you started experiencing those false memories and stopped trusting everyone."

He shakes his head, reminded, once again, how their timing had always seemed to be just that little bit off. And with such monotonous regularity.

"And then, just like that, you were in a coma that, despite Rachel's optimism, most of the doctors thought you'd never come out of. And for the second time in my life, the man I loved more dearly than life itself, was seemingly gone."

Her eyes downcast, her voice quiet once more, she adds, "I'd thought that the first time was about as much pain as I could possibly endure.

"But I was wrong, because this was worse, much worse. Because now it appeared that you were gone, really gone. And for good, this time."

Words desert him. Just as well, for he knows, as he did earlier, that there's nothing he can say to take away even a part of her pain.

"When I came to visit you every night in the hospital, I finally told you that I loved you, feeling like the coward I was the whole time. I talked about the life I wanted with you, desperately hoping that, at least, some small part of my words would register, bring you a little comfort." She pauses. "And might lessen my guilt, as well."

Chuck suddenly realizes she's been squeezing his hand, hurting it a bit, for the past couple of minutes. He's about to comment on it, but senses she needs that somehow, so stays silent, just continues to listen.

"When you woke up, all of us were ecstatic. They told us we needed to stay away for a couple of days, give them a chance to evaluate you. Quite quickly, we realized that things hadn't gone as well as hoped. The Intersect was gone, but you still persisted in believing you were Chuck Bartowski, but it was much more complicated than that. The psych tests they performed indicated that you weren't really Chuck Bartowski either. As you yourself told Rachel, 'I'm basically an amalgam of Carmichael and Bartowski topped off with a layer of false memories.'"

"How did you know that? I thought you'd cut yourself off from the team."

"I had, right after the first evaluations came in, Chuck. I just wasn't ready for their well-meaning sympathy. What you said was in Rachel's observations on your current mental state. Beckman wouldn't let me read the report from last night, but she did tell me at least that much, just so I'd have some idea how you felt."

He can hear the tinge of bitterness in his voice. "But you didn't come earlier and try to find out for yourself how I was doing. Sam, I get you being afraid of losing me again, but how come you weren't even willing to see if there was a chance you were wrong."

Earnestly, she pleads, "Chuck, please try to understand. I was facing an almost certain no-win situation."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Think about it, Chuck. No matter which man came out of the coma, our relationship would've faced serious, crippling problems."

"Why, Sam? I would've loved you either way."

She shakes her head sadly. "No, Chuck. There you're wrong. You would've loved a _version_ of me, a version which either no longer exists or never did."

He shakes his head. "I don't get it."

She sighs, sounding exasperated. "OK, let's suppose that it was Charles Carmichael who had woken up the other night. A man who has no memory of what happened after the Intersect was forced upon him."

"OK."

"Now he remembers me as Samantha Bartowski. The woman he fell in love with and married. The woman he planned to start a family within the very near future. A woman who's never had to resort to violence, which aligns with his personal feelings on the matter."

"Wait, Sam. That sounds a little hypocritical on his part. Charles did create the Intersect with all it's potential for the use of violent force."

"That's true, but Charles hope was that the Intersect would give its hosts the ability to foresee the possible scenarios in any situation, then head things off before the use of force became necessary. But, if it did, to use their physical and mental superiority to restrain their opponents, rather than hurting them. However, if even that wasn't possible, to incapacitate rather than kill."

"I can't see how that could work."

"Chuck, it did. Think back to how many situations you handled as the Intersect without anyone having to die. The whole tranq pistol thing got started because of you. Eventually, even Alex used them when he could."

He ponders for a moment, then nods. "Yeah, you're right. I see what you mean. Sorry to interrupt."

"It's OK, Chuck." After taking a breath, she continues, "So Charles wakes up, thinking the woman he sees at his bedside is the same woman he remembers. But that woman no longer exists, not really. Three years have passed, and I've experienced things, done things that he could've never truly understood, as much as I know he would've attempted to do so."

"Sam, do you think he would've given up that easily? It doesn't seem you're giving him much credit."

"No. Sorry. He's a good man, one who would've tried very hard to make things work. But I don't believe I could've ever gone back to being that Sam again, the one he'd loved, the one he'd frozen in his memory like a photograph. No matter how hard the both of us would've tried, I don't know if we could've ever found our way back to the way he would've wanted things to be.

"And so, sooner or later, chances are it would've ended."

Even though it's all hypothetical, Chuck feels immeasurably saddened by the story, feels the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

"I think I understand." Taking a deep breath, he asks, "And if the man who'd woken up had possessed only Chuck Bartowski's memories?"

"In many ways, even worse."

"Why?"

"Chuck, think about it. How could there really be any sort of actual relationship between two people, neither of whom truly exist? Fundamentally, everything they tried to build on would be based on a lie. And, if Chuck continued to believe himself a real person, how long could I be expected to go on, denying my own identity, pretending to be Sarah Walker, the woman he fell in love with? Maybe we could have found a way, once he grew to accept that I wasn't his Sarah. I don't know."

His shoulders slump. "So you're saying that probably wouldn't have worked either."

She nods. "Most likely."

"Sam, I think I'm missing something here. If you foresaw nothing but doom and gloom, why did you even bother visiting in the first place, spend hours at my beside talking to me?"

She doesn't reply, just squirms in her seat once more.

"Sam, Karen told me that she was convinced you wanted to be with me. Was she wrong?"

She doesn't respond for a few seconds. "No, Chuck, she wasn't."

He feels his frustration boiling up again, but manages to keep it out of his tone. "Could you explain? I'm a little confused right now."

"I'm not sure I can. It's complicated."

"Please try, Sam."

She looks at him, then nods. "Chuck, each time I visited you, I came with the hope you'd wake up while I was there. However, no one could say for sure who I'd be facing at that moment, if it happened at all. But I'd mentally prepared myself for one or the other, Charles or Chuck. Over and over, I planned what I would say, how I would act, depending who you were. In either case, I vowed that I would do all I could to make things work, even though I foresaw the hurdles that we would face."

"So you hadn't given up?"

"No, Chuck. I know it may have sounded like that and I'm sorry. The problem was this. When you woke up, and the first thing you said was 'Sarah', it seemed clear that it was Chuck that I'd have to work with. But then, as I said, it became clear that it wouldn't be either of you, really."

She pauses, looks into his eyes. "Can't you see my dilemma, Chuck? Maybe the things I loved about Charles, about Chuck, wouldn't even be present in this version. That, to me, was the worst case scenario, having to start from scratch, with a man I might not even recognize, not knowing if I could even care for him. So I was afraid, too afraid to come up and face him. And tell him what I had to tell him."

"Tell him what?" He has a sudden chill, an icy stab of fear in his gut.

She seems to shrink, her voice small as she pulls her hand from his. "Tell this good man, who still seemed to care for me, that I was too much of a coward to try again. That I…I lacked the needed courage to chance falling in love with him again and then lose him again somewhere down the road."

He can almost kick himself for taking so long to understand what her original intent had been. Why she'd finally decided to visit.

It wasn't to try and make things work.

It was to say goodbye.

Stupidly, he hadn't understood, until this very minute, just how close he'd come to losing her right off the bat. And, even though he's gotten her to open up, he realizes that everything is still balanced on that knife-edge. Desperate, he searches his mind, trying to find something, anything, he can say to convince her not to give up on them.

 _Come on, Chuck! Think!_

Then it comes to him.

 _Of course._

He takes her hand, leans in closer. Gently he asks, "Sam, please look at me. Please."

It takes a few seconds before she does, sniffling, swiping away the tears with her free hand.

"Sam, you said that who I am, this weird mixture of Charles and Chuck, was the worst possible scenario. But you're wrong, Sam. It's actually the _best_ possible scenario."

He thinks he hears a tiny spark of hope in her voice, sees it in her expression. "What do you mean?"

"You believe that that it would be very difficult for either to really know, really understand the person you are today. Right?"

She nods, tentatively. "Yes, that's right."

"And I agree with you. They couldn't. But I can, because I not either of them.

"I'm both of them."

She leans in closer. "What are you trying to say, Chuck?"

He replies, earnestly, "Don't you see, Sam? I know Sarah Walker really, really well. Not only did I help create her, but I've worked closely with her and loved her for three years. I know what she's had to do, why she's had to do it. I've lost count of the times that I've seen her bravery, her selflessness and her loyalty, even in the face of tremendous odds. But I've also experienced her tenderness, her compassion, her love. Sarah Walker is brilliant, beautiful person, inside and out."

"But, Chuck, that's not me! Sarah's just some character that I had to act out. Someone you dreamed up in your head."

He shakes his head. "No, that's where you're wrong. I just gave you the outline, a skeleton, if you will. But you, you're the one who put flesh on the bones."

She shakes her head. "No—"

He interrupts her. "Yes, Sam. The history was Sarah, but the rest of it was you."

"Chuck, stop. You can't know that. You don't know me well enough to say things like that."

"I know that's what I said earlier, and if these memories, these flashes, hadn't come along, I probably would agree with you. But this is where the Charles part comes in."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Sam, Charles' memories, mine, I suppose, aren't your run of the mill ones. When something triggers them, it's as if I'm right there, experiencing it right now. For example, the memory of our first meeting was so powerful, so clear, that I was honestly unsure where I was for a few moments. Back there in my office all those years ago, or up on this rooftop in the here and now. And the others have been equally intense. Everything, every word, every action, every expression has an astounding clarity. And unlike a few days ago, the details now stick."

Nodding thoughtfully, she replies, "OK. I think I understand. You're telling me that you've learned a lot about me from your flashes."

"No, Sam. Details, of course, but as far as the fundamentals go, no, nothing really new."

"Chuck, you're confusing me. What good were they then?"

"I'm sorry for not being clearer. What I saw in them simply confirmed that all the humor, determination, courage, kindness, unselfishness, love, all the beauty that I saw in Sarah, had only one source."

He leans in, quietly says, "You. It was all you, Sam."

Hand over her mouth, she gasps, lets out a little, "Oh!"

Quietly, pleadingly, he asks, "Sam, do you see what I'm getting at? Sarah Walker was simply the reflection of you. So, even with all these stupid gaps, there's no one in this world who knows you as well as I do."

She almost whispers, "You really believe that?"

"With all my heart."

"But, even if that's true, where does it get us, Chuck? Halfway there at best? Because I'm still not sure who you are. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something about you that's different, even from the man you were just a few weeks ago. You're not the same."

"I agree. Like you said, none of us are who we were before. Or ever will be again. But in my case, the differences are clearly a little more extreme." He pauses to make sure he has her attention. "Sam, even if all of Charles' memories somehow miraculously return, I'll never again be that man you remember, because Chuck Bartowski will always be part of me. And, of course, knowing what I know now, I'll never be just Chuck Bartowski again, either.

"Because, after everything is said and done, who are we, Sam, if not the sum of our experiences, our memories?"

He pauses. "While the memories of Chuck and Sarah may fade, they'll never completely disappear. They've left an indelible mark on our hearts, our minds and our souls. We'll carry them with us for the rest of our lives." He flushes a bit. "Sorry. Guess I'm preaching to the choir, aren't I?"

She nods, soberly. "Yes. A bit." Sounding frustrated, she adds, "Chuck, you're not making much of a case for yourself here. What I'm hearing is that _you_ don't even seem to know who you are. If that's true, how the hell am I supposed to figure it out?"

"To answer that, I need to tell you a story. Something I've told no one else. It may take a while to get to the point, so please be patient with me."

"OK."

He grips her hand a little tighter. "Sam, shortly before I came out of the coma, I was having these vivid, disjointed dreams. Weird, chaotic, disturbing stuff. But then something happened, and then, just like that, everything came together."

"What happened, Chuck?"

"You, Sam, you happened. You were the constant in my dreams that brought all the pieces together and made sense of it all. And I knew, right then, that there was nothing more important than getting back to you. That's what impelled me to put forth the effort. Just so I could see you, touch you again, and hear your voice. Do you understand? If it hadn't been for that, I might never have made my way back."

"Chuck, I had no idea that I…" Her voice trails off, the tears tracing down her cheeks.

"That's because, as you once told me, you think too little of yourself."

He pauses to take a deep breath. "Sam, despite all the changes we've gone through, all the good and bad, all the ups and downs, you're still are and always will be that constant. You know how I know that?"

She doesn't say a word, just shakes her head, never taking her eyes from his.

"Because, Sam, I now know that I only really fell in love with one woman. Because, through it all, that extraordinary core of you, that astoundingly beautiful person, never went away. It remained, and does remain, intact."

He squeezes her hand, earnestly says, "And I firmly believe that, deep down, you feel the same about me. That underneath all of these layers, the man you fell for still exists. If you didn't, you would've made you goodbyes already."

She looks away for a second. "Chuck, I…I'm not sure. I look at you and sometimes I believe, that yes, I see the man I love, but then I think—"

He pleads. "Please, Sam, don't think. Feel. Once, you told me that, in your heart, you knew you could never do better than me. And I've known the same about you since the first time I saw you." He grins, a little ruefully. "Both first times."

Through her tears, she manages a brief grin in return.

"Sam," greatly daring, he briefly lays his hand over her heart, "I'm asking you to look right here one more time. What is it telling you?"

For a moment, she looks intently at him, searching his face, but then she closes her eyes, a slight frown and wrinkled brow, the only signs of the struggle he senses raging within her.

It seems like he waits, unmoving, for hours, but he knows, in truth, that it's really only a few minutes.

 _Please. Please. Please._

His anxiety gnaws at him, to the point that he's about to break the silence, when she opens her eyes and smiles at him, _that_ smile, the one she's always reserved just for him.

"Yes."

His mouth dry, he asks, "Yes?"

"Yes, Chuck. _I know_ ," she places her free hand over her heart, "right here, that _you_ never really left. Not completely."

He chokes, has to swallow hard before he can ask. "Sam, does that mean that you're willing to try?"

"Yes, Chuck, I am." With a lopsided grin, she adds, "After all, third time's a charm, right?

Chuck had always thought that the phrase, "jumping for joy", was some type of literary exaggeration, not something _actual_ people would ever do. But right at this moment, he's just about ready to leap from his seat, is only able to restrain himself because he really doesn't want to move his hand from hers. That and he doesn't want to come across as some sort of idiot.

Besides, there are still important issues that need to be addressed. "Sam, I know you're afraid of what might happen down the road. I understand that. And the truth is that, despite our best efforts, there's no guarantee we'll get the future we want. But I _can_ promise you this."

Leaning in closer, he quietly says, "Sam, I'll never leave you by choice. Ever."

She nods, blinking back happy tears. "I know, Chuck, I know."

HIs eyes stinging, he asks, "Sam, how do you want to do this?"

Dashing away her tears, she replies, "I would like us to spend the next month together, with no missions, no distractions. Just the two of us, Chuck, getting to know each other again. Is that alright with you?"

He quickly answers, "Trust me, I have no problem with that."

"And on our anniversary, I would like to renew our vows—"

"That's a great idea—"

"—if we decide we're ready to make that commitment."

His heart falls. "Oh."

"Chuck, please don't look so down. It might be that we just aren't ready by then. Don't you think it would be fair, for both of us, to take enough time to be sure?"

Disappointed, but knowing she's right, he replies, "OK, Sam. I understand."

She squeezes his hand. "Thank you, Chuck. I do have a couple of other conditions, as well."

"Anything. Just name them."

"Chuck, we're gonna sort this out, and, after we do, if I ever hear you so much as mention the Intersect again, let alone go anywhere near it, I swear that I'll cut you off so quickly, it'll make your head spin. Then I'll lock you up for as long as it takes for you to come to your senses."

He chuckles.

"You laugh, but I'm serious."

"No, Sam. I laughed because Rachel already threatened me with that." But then, realizing what he just said, he quickly adds, blushing all the while, "The locking up part. Not the other thing."

She gives him a flat look. "I would certainly hope not."

Still blushing, he asks, hesitantly, "Sam, you, um, said something about cutting me off, if I ever mentioned the…that word again. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that kinda implies that, before that could happen, there would sorta have to be the opposite of cutting off at some point." He finishes in a rush. "Unless I misunderstood you."

"No, you didn't misunderstand me." She adds, very dryly, "It is something that married people are known to do from time to time."

"Yeah, of course, of course."

"Three years, Chuck. Three years."

"Oh! Right."

"And before you ask, we'll take it one day at a time."

"Gotcha." He pauses, before asking, "You said conditions, as in more than one?"

"Yes, Chuck. I'm going to need you to be patient with me. It won't always be easy for me to accept the person you are right now. I promise that I'll do my very best to make new memories with you, but I know that I'll sometimes mourn the loss of what we once had. If I become angry, morose, or depressed, please try to remember that it isn't about you. Not really."

She pauses. "Chuck, I guess what I'm doing is asking for your forgiveness in advance."

He gently smiles at her, "Of course, Sam. Consider it granted, although I don't believe you really need it. _I'm_ the one who's going to keep putting his foot in it, bringing up painful memories without realizing it. Not remembering things that are very important to you. I'm the one who should be asking in advance for forgiveness, not you."

She nods, thoughtfully. "I guess it's going to have to be a two-way thing on the patience issue, won't it?"

"Yes, Sam you're right. Always has been, always will be."

A few seconds of silence pass before she says, "Enough of my stuff for now. Do you have any questions you'd like to ask?"

"Only about a million of them, but there are a couple of things I really need to know right now. The rest can keep. If they seem weird, it's because I'm trying to sort out the real memories from the false."

"OK. Go ahead."

"Sam, did we ever meet on a train platform in Prague? Where I said and did some incredibly stupid things? And really hurt you?"

She looks at him for a second, quizzically, then shakes her head. "No, we've never been in Prague. And while you've occasionally done and said stupid things, the only time you really hurt me was during the few weeks that proceeded you winding up here."

He closes his eyes, and under his breath, gratefully mutters, "Thank you, thank you."

"What was that, Chuck?"

Looking at her again, he replies, "Not important right now, Sam. One day, I'll tell you about it."

It seems like she wants to pursue the subject further, but, instead, simply asks, "The other question?"

"It's sorta of a two in one. About a couple of names that are rattling around my brain. Not sure why. Not even sure they're real people."

"OK, go ahead."

"First, Jill Roberts."

Sam winces, and Chuck wonders if he's struck a nerve of some sort. But when she looks into his eyes, instead of anger or annoyance, all he sees is sympathy.

"Chuck, Jill was your girlfriend when you first started at MIT."

"Oh. I guess I broke up with her at some point."

"No, sweetie." Sam pauses. "She was in the South Tower on 9/11."

Abruptly, Beckman's words come back to him, however, no other memory arises of the woman it seems he'd cared for at some time in his forgotten past.

"Sam, General Beckman told me I joined the NSA because a friend of mine had died in New York, but I had no idea it was someone I'd been dating."

"I understand. It was after we started dating that you told me about her, that you'd only been going out for a while when it happened. And how you were have supposed to have gone with her, but you'd had a fight the day before. You wrestled with your guilt over that for quite some time."

He knows he _should_ feel devastated, but honestly, there's nothing there beyond the general sadness he'd felt for any of those who'd lost their lives so senselessly.

"So, in an indirect way, losing Jill brought me to you."

"Yes, we discussed that a number of times, how something so good had come out of something so terrible."

 _Thank you, Jill Roberts. Whoever you were._

Lost in thought, it takes her question to bring him back to the here and now.

"You said there was another name?"

He gives himself a shake. "Yes, yes. The other one was Daniel Shaw."

She actually growls, startling him for a moment. "Don't get me started on that son of a bitch!"

"What did he do, Sam?"

"We discovered that he was Bryce's partner, the one who took out the building containing our backups, killed those innocent men and woman. Alex and I requested that we be allowed to go after him."

"What happened?"

"While the rest of the team was working on the setup in Burbank, we tracked him down in Paris.

"Hang on. Alex was wounded, wasn't he?"

"Yes, but he'd had a couple of weeks to recover. He did limp a bit, but wasn't going to let that stop him from going with me. When we tried to bring Shaw in, he resisted. In the end, we had no choice. He's at the bottom of the Seine."

"For sure?"

Flatly, she replies. "Yeah, for sure. I was there."

Chuck's about to ask more, but bites his tongue when he realizes the part she'd almost certainly played in the man's demise. He watches her for a second or two as she fights to push away the unpleasant memories.

Gently squeezing her hand, he captures her attention, softly says, "I'm sorry I brought him up."

She shakes her head. "It's OK. You couldn't have known. It's something that I reconciled myself to long ago."

He's not certain she really has, but wisely doesn't comment.

Instead, he cheerfully says, "Man, we're good at this. Five minutes in and we've already got the whole forgiveness schtick happening. I really believe we're really gonna rock this whole marriage thing."

As he'd hoped, her expression clears. She chuckles. "You do, do you?"

He grins. "Absolutely! Don't you?"

She looks at him, grins back. "Yes, I agree. But, right now, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, Sam. What is it?"

She looks up into his eyes and says, very quietly, "Kiss me."

Nodding solemnly, he closes the last remaining distance between. Tenderly, he uses his thumbs to brush away her tears, then gently takes her face in his hands, closes his eyes and softly kisses her.

He's immediately overcome by the familiarity of her lips against his, knows right then, in his heart of hearts, that even if he never manages to recall another single memory of their past, it really won't matter.

Because he _knows_ _her_. Whether she's Sarah or Sam means nothing. Not really.

It's just her.

And with her by his side, he knows that, no matter who he winds up being, he'll be able to face the future, if not totally unafraid, at least with confidence that, together, they'll be able to find a way.

He pulls back a little and looks into those beautiful blue eyes that captivate him, each and every time. And always will.

"I love you, Samantha Sarah Lisa Walker Bartowski Carmichael."

She looks back, a little, almost shy smile on her lips. He's uncertain, but _thinks_ he sees a hint of amusement flash through her eyes. However, there's definitely no mistaking the emotion that takes it place.

"And I, you, Charles Chuck Irving Bartowski Carmichael."

 **The End.**

—

 _A/N: Except for a little epilogue which should sew things up neatly. Thank you all for following along so patiently. And for your insightful and encouraging reviews. If you enjoyed this story, make sure you read the A/N after the epilogue. There'll be a teaser._


	14. Epilogue

_A/N: Here we are. The end of Never Was._

 _Maybe._

 _You'll notice there is no Arc connected to this epilogue. I feel the reasons will become clear quite quickly._

 _Thanks to my beta, michaelfmx, for his patient assistance as we worked to reach this point._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Thank you. Enjoy!_

CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS

Epilogue

In the end, it happened to fall on a Tuesday, not the usual day of the week one would choose for occasions such as this. Not that it presented a problem for any of the participants. After all, none of them worked what would be defined as a regular 9 to 5 job.

Somewhat surprisingly, considering how often random chance had conspired against the two principal celebrants, Mother Nature had decided to go out of her way to make the occasion truly noteworthy. Instead of the cool and damp one would normally expect at this time of the year, the evening was clear and pleasantly warm, with the temperature in the low 70s. A gentle breeze that wafted in from the ocean made it just about perfect.

Karen Green, taking a break as she watched the couples on the dance floor, certainly thought it was. When she'd left home yesterday, she'd had to scrape the ice off the windows of her car before driving herself to the airport.

The lengthy flight to LA had given her time to mull over the unusual events that had surrounded the young man who'd been in her care what now seemed like a long time ago, but in fact was only about a month in the past. And the chance to muse over how those events had brought this unique group of people into her life.

When Chuck had asked her to attend, she'd demurred, protesting that this was an intimate time, reserved for those who closest to them. His simple, "I know. That's why we're inviting you," had taken the wind from her sails and she'd given in.

But only after asking for his forgiveness over how she'd lied about the visits from his teammates. Chuck'd had shaken it off, told her there was nothing to forgive, then tentatively, awkwardly hugged her, much to the amusement of the tall, blonde spy at his side.

As the sun went down, the two of them had exchanged vows on a seemingly insignificant stretch of beach. But, as she'd watched them (brushing away tears the whole time) facing each other as they spoke of their love, Karen had sensed that this particular patch of sand had meaning for them. Perhaps, one day, they'd tell her.

And if she accepted the very tempting position that Westside Medical had, out of the blue, offered her (knowing full well the two individuals behind it), she'd have many more opportunities to hear the stories of this diverse group of people who'd become her friends.

Amongst the small group of happy observers, there'd only been one face unfamiliar to her. A tall redhead, who'd introduced herself as Carina. Karen had been around enough agents to immediately recognize that this woman was one as well, although she wasn't sure from which branch of the government.

After everyone had dried their eyes (Karen was convinced that even the Major, standing right next to her, had sniffled once or twice), Chuck's best friend (and officiant for the night), his beard almost back to it's previous splendor, had then led them a few hundred yards down the beach to a small, beachside bistro that'd been rented out for the night.

They'd all smiled, captivated at seeing the twinkle lights all around the patio which, having been cleared of most of its tables, was now transformed into a small dance floor, with two speakers on a small table at one end. But then, glancing around, they'd suddenly realized that they seemed to be missing the happy couple.

Turning, they'd seen them, twenty feet or so away in the gathering twilight, her simple, yet elegant white dress standing out against the stark contrast of his dark blue suit. With their heads close, her arms around his neck and his around her waist, it was quite clear what they were doing.

None of the group had said anything, enchanted by the scene before them. That was until Carina had let out an almost ear-piercing wolf whistle and the rest had joined in with clapping and cheering.

Karen could've have sworn that both of them had blushed furiously upon realizing they'd been caught.

The choice of song (one unfamiliar to Karen) for their first dance had initially struck her as odd. It hardly seemed the kind of music you could dance to, starting as it did with an unaccompanied, bluesy female voice. But when the woman sang so feelingly of a new dawn, a new day and a new life, it suddenly became very clear why they'd decided on this one.

And then, of course, the tissues had come out once more.

Now, as she takes a break, Karen notices Chuck smiling fondly as he, too, watches the others dancing, his eyes most often focused on his wife who, at the moment, is partnered with the Major.

He isn't the best dancer, but she doesn't seem to mind, just smiles as they chat. Just before the song ends, she leans in a little closer and speaks a few words that cause the Major to flush a little. Karen knows him well enough by now to see that he's embarrassed, watches as he tries to shake off her words, but she nods, quietly insistent and, in the end, Karen sees him mouth, "You're welcome."

As Karen watches the man hand her off to Chuck once more, Karen thinks about what she has going on with the Major. They'd only been on a couple of dates, enjoyable ones for sure, but it was much too soon to say if it would lead to any sort of serious relationship. But even if it doesn't, Karen would always be grateful to the man for helping her realize she'd been foolish to bury herself in her work, thinking it was too late for to her to take a chance again.

After all, forty-five isn't really old.

Of course, she'd only agreed to his request in the first place because of the couple standing across the floor from her, who, both by word and example, had urged her to not give up. To fight for love as they had done.

Karen, pulls herself back to the present, smiles as she sees the Major heading her way, undoubtedly coming over to request another dance.

Just then, she notices Chuck lean in and say a few words into his wife's ear, upon which she turns to him and looks up into his face, her hands resting gently on his chest.

The smile she bestows upon him is far from the first Karen has seen this evening. In truth, the woman has been smiling almost constantly for the past couple of hours. But this one is different.

Gloriously brilliant, almost blindingly so, yet somehow still so personal, so intimate, to the point that Karen instinctively tries to turn her head, give them their privacy.

But she finds herself utterly incapable of actually doing so. For this is what the nurse has been waiting to see ever since the first time that heartbroken woman had walked into Chuck's room.

Blinking back her tears, Karen Green realizes just how badly she'd underestimated the power of that smile, because it does far, far more than just light up a room.

It lights up hearts.

 _A/N: Thank you all so very much for reading along. Reviews are always appreciated._

 _I going to take a break until the new year when I will come back, with (drumroll, please) a Third Arc to this story. A sort of "what if" story, the direction things could have gone if certain plans had come to fruition._

 _Here's a bit of a teaser:_

—

He cuts her off. "Ellie misses you."

Something undefinable flashes across her face. She says nothing.

He answers her unspoken question. "Had to be in Burbank to shut down a couple of things. Dropped in just to say hello. They're both fine, in case you wanted to know. And Morgan is still Morgan. I didn't tell them I was trying to find you. Didn't want to get their hopes up."

"Ellie knows why I can't see her."

"Yeah, she does, but that doesn't change how she feels about you."

She looks away. "I can't, Casey. I can't go back there. There's just too many…"

"Hey, I understand. But staying up here can't be good for you, either."

"It's all I can do right now."

Casey thinks he can hear the pleading in her voice, so he drops the subject. "OK. I get it."

They stand, silent for a few moments, seemingly both unsure of what to say next.

Then she asks, trying to sound chipper, he thinks. "Do you want a coffee? Just made some fresh. It'll help keep you awake on that long drive back to town."

"Sure. Sounds good."

She turns suddenly, her pony tail swinging wide as she heads for the door.

She's only taken a few steps, when Casey softly says, "Sarah."

That stops her in her tracks.

"He's alive."

—

 _That's it for now. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. See you again in the new year._

 _WvonB_


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